Sherlock and Company
by Jinx2016
Summary: After a certain consulting detective blew up his flat with a spoon and muffin mix Lestrade finds himself sharing the new and improved 221B with Sherlock and John. / A never ending sequal to 20 Days With Lestrade. It CAN be read alone. I take requests.
1. The Grand Tour

_Chapter 1_

_The Grand Tour_

Lestrade stared at the freshly painted door of 221 B Baker Street. His hand was hesitantly hovering above the doorknob. At his side stood Sherlock, patiently waiting for the DI. His eyes rested on him, reading Lestrade's ever thought in just a single glance. Lestrade sucked in a deep breath. He had never expected something like this would happen. He never would have thought that he would be living with Sherlock and john, but he certainly never thought that the great detective himself would blow up Lestrade's flat. Sherlock's hand fell on Lestrade's shoulder.

"Lestrade, I hate to break the moment, but it's cold and dark and I really rather spend my night inside," Sherlock muttered, pulling his coat closer to himself. Lestrade stiffened a little and glanced up at the detective with slit eyes.

"Give me a break, Sherlock, I'm about to end up living with you and John for a while. Do you know how I-"

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, his hand falling from Lestrade's shoulder. Lestrade cursed at himself and let his hand finally turn the knob of the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside with Sherlock right next to him. They climbed up the stairway, which still had the same squeaky steps like the old ones. Before Lestrade made it to the top of the stairs, Sherlock beat him to the door and flung it open, a wide smile cracked along his face. Lestrade followed the detective inside, eyes wide at the sight of the new flat.

"It…it…it looks exactly the same," Lestrade stated, dumfounded. He wasn't kidding either. The same wallpaper hung on the walls, painted with a yellow smiley face and decorated with bullet holes and a painting of a skull. The sitting room was a complete mess just like before. Files and papers flung all around and a violin sitting on the sill of the new and larger windows. The mount with the headphones still sat on the wall, a little blackened from the fire more than twenty days ago, but hardly noticeable. The fireplace was far grander than it originally was, but it was still cluttered with cards and a stack of letters pinned down by the glimmering blade of Sherlock's knife. A lovely collection of photos sat along the fireplace. Ones of Mrs. Hudson with Sherlock and John and a couple from the Christmas parties they all celebrated together. Each photo held perfectly wonderful memories. There were more doors as well, Lestrade noticed. One was where it had always been. The one that led to Sherlock's bedroom. The door was open so Lestrade could see the inside perfectly. Hanging on the wall was a poster of the periodic table and the empty case for the violin sat on his bare bed. Lestrade glanced away from the room and up the stairs that had originally led to John's room. Now there were two rooms sitting there.

"That's John's room and the guest bedroom," Sherlock clarified, noticing the inspectors staring. Lestrade nodded and marched up to the guest room to see his new room. To his astonishment all of his things were there. The half shattered fish tank was fixed up and sitting by the window, the sunlight making the water glisten. There was even fish in the tank for once! Small little gold fish with fat bellies. His bed had silk blankets stacked up on the bed and a quilt hung over the bar of the bed. Pictures of his family sat on the shelves right next to the bed and his clothes were hung neatly in the closet. "What do you think?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the room and glancing around like he had not seen the room yet either. Lestrade let a smile widen across his face and turned to his friend. It's perfect Sherlock. The corners of Sherlock's mouth slipped up and he nodded toward the stairs for Lestrade to follow. Reluctantly, Lestrade left his room, passing the closed door of John's room and back down the stairs. Sherlock led him into the kitchen next and Lestrade almost yelped in shock by the sight of it. The entire kitchen was spotless of any mess what so ever! Food took over the cabinets and none of the cans or boxes was past their expiration date. Instead of a head in the fridge eggs, milk, and tons of other lovely looking food was piled inside the fridge. Lestrade looked at the table then only to see that it was clear of any experiment and was instead set up with plates and a bowl of fresh fruit (no apples of course). Lestrade turned to Sherlock with his hands gesturing all around him.

"Since when is the kitchen ever clean?" he asked. Sherlock chuckled lightly at the inspector and walked over to a door Lestrade had not noticed in the kitchen. There was a warning sign printed on the door and Lestrade watched as Sherlock opened the door to reveal what looked like a laboratory. Tables were set up with computers and scientific gear and utensils. Experiments cluttered the area. And a fridge sat in the corner containing who knows what.

"Mrs. Hudson had asked the repair man to add the lab in. She said that she was tired of having holes burned through her tables," Sherlock sighed, but he didn't seem at all to mind the change. In fact, he looked rather pleased staring at the wonderful lab.

"Sherlock?" John's voice called from the sitting room. Sherlock turned his head and strolled out of the lab, shutting the door after Lestrade and walked into the sitting room to be greeted by John, who was carrying a box. John smiled at Lestrade when he entered the room with Sherlock, giving him a warm greeting and then turned to Sherlock. "I found this out on the step when I got home. Any idea what it is?" John asked. Sherlock took the box from John and sat in his chair. it wasn't the same chair Sherlock used to have. It looked identical, except for the color. This one was such a dark blue that it almost appeared black at first. John's chair was similar to the one he had before. The color was more of a green and the Union-Jack pillow was sitting on it, half burnt from the fire. Sherlock eyed the box, checking for a name, but found nothing at all.

"Shall we open it?" Sherlock asked, holding his hand out to John. John pulled out a pocket knife and handed it to Sherlock before taking a seat in his chair. Lestrade sat down on the new black couch that sat up against the wall. It was a comfortable leather couch that was warm from the sunlight cracking through the windows. Sherlock stabbed at the tape lining the box and pulled away the flaps of the card bored container. Packing peanuts flew out of the box, flying this way and that. A triumphant shout came from the detective as his hands flew into the box. A skull was now in his hands and the box was sitting empty on the floor.

"Wait, I thought you two took that when you left?" Lestrade stated, frowning at the skull known as Billy. Sherlock shook his head.

"We couldn't find it. We just figured that we had packed it up already, but…" Sherlock trailed off as he noticed a letter in the skulls mouth. He frowned at it, bringing it out to see the graceful handwriting all of them knew. Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock opened the letter and read it out.

_"The firemen found this in the rubble of Lestrade's flat. If there is any- and Sherlock I'm talking about you- pranks against me used with that skull I guarantee you shall forever be cursed with helping me Friday shopping! Any-who…have fun, Dearies! I'll be at my sister for a bit. There is some casserole in the fridge if you are hungry. Love, Mrs. Hudson."_ Sherlock shivered once he finished reading. "I still don't see what is so wonderful about Good Friday shopping," Sherlock mumbled.

"Well, you better keep your opinions to yourself, Sherlock. The last we want is to be stuck shopping with her again in those crowded stores," John said, waving a finger at his flat mate. Sherlock paled.

"Mrs. Hudson is a shopping ninja." Lestrade couldn't help but to laugh. If Sherlock and John were afraid to shop with Mrs. Hudson it had to be pretty bad.

"So, Greg," John said suddenly. "What do you think of the new and improved 221B?" Lestrade took another glance around.

"It's wonderful but, why did you have it rebuilt so much like the old 221B?" he asked. John and Sherlock each shared a bright smile with each other now.

"Because it feels more like home," Sherlock stated simply. Lestrade's brows raised.

"This flat is where all of our adventures started. This flat is where it all begins every time. All our cases begin right here in 221B and swapping it out for something different just didn't seem right to us," John informed Lestrade. A smile curved over the inspectors face to now as he said with spirit,

"Well, then this adventure for us is just getting started."

* * *

**The sequel to Twenty Days with Lestrade is here! Yay! It can be read alone, but some things may pop in later on from previous stories. This takes place right after Sherlock burned down Lestrade's flat. I won't be updating this weekly. I've found that it was difficult to do with 20 Days so I think I shall just update whenever I get a new chapter written. Plus I need to focus on The Dream of a Madman since it has so many twists and turns. This will be on going and I will NEVER complete it. It shall go on forever! As long as I have ideas there will be more. In order for there to be more I will need all of you to help. I need ideas or requests to help me through this one so if you have any ideas at all please put it in a review or PM me. Remember, I'm a crazy writer that will write anything no matter how insane it may seem or look. Thanks and I hope you enjoy this!**


	2. Picnicking with Detectives

_Chapter 2_

_Picnicking with Detectives_

Lestrade lay contently in his bed at 221B. It had been his first night at the new 221B and now it was his first morning. He was rather curious of what he may run into now that he is the one living Sherlock and John. He sat up in his bed, covering his face as the light from the window spilled into the bedroom. Lestrade got up from his bed, changing his shirt and opened his door. John's bedroom door was open and Lestrade could see perfectly inside. It looked much more homely than Sherlock's room. Photos of family were sitting on the shelves of the room and on the nightstand in a silver frame were John and Sherlock together, smiling like to fools. They looked like they were out in some beautiful garden. Flowers were all around them and the area was lush and green. Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt and John was in a normal everyday T-shirt. Lestrade smiled at the picture. He's never seen them so happy before in his life. Deciding that he better not invade John's room any longer he stepped down the stairs.

Sherlock and John to Lestrade's surprise were dressed in summer where. Thin T-shirts and sunglasses sitting on top of their heads. Sherlock was with Mrs. Hudson, helping her pack plastic containers into a lovely basket with plaid blanket. John was rummaging around with a pack of batteries and a camera, looking rather frustrated.

"What's all this?" Lestrade asked as he stepped off the last step. Mrs. Hudson perked up from behind the basket, smiling at him sweetly.

"Oh, the boys and I always go on a picnic during the summer," she said, ruffling Sherlock's dark curls. "You're welcome to join us of course," she added. Lestrade smiled back at the sweet old lady and strolled over to assist with his troublesome camera. The man looked like he was about to toss it into the wall. With one slick movement Lestrade shoved the batteries into the camera and handed it over to a dumbfounded John.

"I hate technology," John groaned, falling back against the couch and tossing his arm over his eyes dramatically. Lestrade laughed at him. John reminded him of Sherlock sometimes.

"John," Sherlock called, marching over to the couch and shaking John up to his feet. "Let's go!" he said excitedly.

* * *

In an hour Lestrade found himself in a lovely park in the middle of the country. Roses bloomed on lush green bushes and a fountain spewed water elegantly right next to a gorgeous willow tree. The area looked exactly like the picture John kept in his room. Sherlock and John both set down the blanket first and Lestrade helped Mrs. Hudson take the food out of the basket and plop it onto the blanket. They all sat in the shade of the tree then; nibbling on the wonderful food Mrs. Hudson had packed them.

"Sherlock, I've never seen you down so many sandwiches before," Lestrade stated as Sherlock inhaled his fifth sandwich. The consulting detective simply shrugged.

"You've never tasted Mrs. Hudson's before."

"And I never will!" Lestrade shouted, holding up the now empty plate. Mrs. Hudson whacked Sherlock on the back of the head gently and waved a finger at him.

"Now, Sherlock, don't go eating everything! It's not like it's going to just disappear!" Mrs. Hudson said motherly.

"It will when he's eating!" Sherlock whined, pointing his thumb at John as his friend snacked on a chunk of raspberry pie. John frowned at him and said through a full mouth,

"Me…what do you-"

"Come, come, John, you might as well fess up to it. You eat three times every day, John!"

"That's not bad, Sherlock. That's normal."

"NORMAL! Since when is stuffing yourself normal…" Lestrade rolled his eyes as the two carried on bickering and he turned his gaze to the clouds. They were the bright white puffy clouds that formed shapes high above. He stared at them for a moment, trying to decipher the clouds rolling by.

"Doesn't that look like a rabbit?" Lestrade asked, staring at the lovely cloud in the form of a bunny hopping across the blue sky. The blogger detectives stopped bickering and stared up at the sky with Lestrade.

"Well, little Kirsty lost her rabbit again," Sherlock sighed, laying back down against the green grass and staring up into the blue sky. John and Lestrade did the same as Mrs. Hudson pulled some drinks out of the cooler. What do you see John?" Sherlock asked suddenly, yawning as the sunlight warmed him like a blanket. John's eyes scanned over the sky and then fell back to the basket.

"A camera," John stated. Sherlock frowned up at the sky.

"Where-"

"Here!" John shouted, snapping a picture of Sherlock before losing his balance and toppling over on top of the detective. Sherlock gasped from the added weight, but broke into a fit of laughter as he stole the camera from John and snapped a couple of his flat mate. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade both laughed at the boys as they rolled on the ground, laughing and shouting. "Lestrade, get the camera!" John shrieked, holding Sherlock down. Lestrade jumped Sherlock then and stole the camera from his hands. He ran from the area, John and Sherlock rushed after him and Lestrade snapped at them with the camera, not even noticing the fountain that was right in front of him-

_Splash!_

The camera flew up into the air into the rose bushes as Lestrade fell into the fountain. The pleasantly cool water soaked through his clothes and sparked in the light of the bright sun. John and Sherlock skidded to a stop and stared at the sobbing wet inspector as he sat in the fountain. Lestrade looked up at them to see they were trying to hold back their smiles. Lestrade held out a hand to Sherlock, who took his hand without a second thought.

_Splash!_

Sherlock sat in the water with shock written all over his face. John, who no longer was keeping down his laughter, pointed at the sopping wet men, tears rolling down his cheeks. Sherlock frowned at him and lunged at John, pulling him in with them both. John gasped as the cool water splashed his face and he splashed the water up into Sherlock's face. Sherlock splashed him back, but his Lestrade in the face instead. Lestrade splashed them both back and in moments they were sopping wet, splashing each other like children. Mrs. Hudson, who had snuck over had picked up the camera and was now pointing it directly at her smiling boys. Another picture for their memories.


	3. Book of Memories

_Chapter 3_

_Book of Memories_

Lestrade was angry…no, he was furious. Sherlock did it again! He stole the case files right from under his nose! It was an important case. That stupid idiot just can't take things without telling him. How stupid could he be?! Lestrade stopped outside the door to the flat. He took in several deep breaths, remembering that Mrs. Hudson was just downstairs sleeping. Not even noticing how quiet it was in the flat Lestrade threw open the door.

"Sherlock you-"

"Lestrade!" shouted a muffled voice. Lestrade stared ahead of him to see John sitting in his chair with a gun to his head and Sherlock standing by the window with his hands up and sopping wet curls atop his head. Lestrade stared at the gun pointed at John and then glared over at Sherlock.

"Really? Can we never just have a normal or easy day without getting attacked in our own home?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock shrugged, pulling the wet curls from his face.

"Good, question, but we sort of…brought him here-"

"You kidnapped me!" the man protested, pressing the gun tighter to John's head. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the man.

"You are the drug dealer we've been hunting down for a week! Why would we not kidnap you?!" Sherlock burst, throwing his hands in the air and turning to look out the window.

"Sherlock how many times must I tell you-"

"Not to go out on my own," Sherlock stated, copying Lestrade's voice. "Yes, a billion times, but I caught him didn't I?"

"Caught him?!" Lestrade explained in a high pitched voice. "He's got a bullet with your friends name on it!" Sherlock shrugged and pulled of his heavy coat. "And why are you soaking wet?" Lestrade added, nodding at Sherlock's wet hair. Sherlock's eyes rolled up to stare at the hair atop his head and he let out a stifled sigh.

"He tried to drown me in a fountain when we attacked," Sherlock stated. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, he could have killed you!"

"He didn't!"

"But what if he did?!"

"Umm…can I interject?"

"NO!" Sherlock and Lestrade shouted in unison to the attacker's question. The attacker stared down at John with wide eyes and John simply shrugged.

"You get used to it," John stated, turning his eyes back to the fight. Lestrade's body was practically radiating hate while Sherlock's was perfectly calm. He may be tied down with a bullet to his head, but at least he got a free show and they were wasting some time.

"What about you?!" Sherlock finally shouted. "If you didn't have idiots tripping over your crimes scenes I would have solved the cases right away." Lestrade stared at him, teeth meshed together.

"Like you aren't any better! Every day it's 'oh, I better keep an eye on Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum so they don't start a war with Anderson and Donavan'!" Sherlock raised a brow at the DI.

"Tweedle?"

"He means those characters from Alice in Wonderland," John clarified. Sherlock's facial expression didn't change. He simply just stared into space, searching his mind palace for a helpful definition. John, Lestrade, and even the attacker now rolled their eyes at the clueless detective.

_Bing!_

Sherlock glanced down at his phone, which was sitting on the couch arm. He scooped it up and flicked through the messages.

_New Messages: 1_

_Photo Album page 13- MH _

Sherlock frowned at the text, brushing back his wet curls and walked away into his bedroom. Lestrade and John both exchanged a look of confusion while the attacker just stared at them in astonishment. Sherlock emerged from his room, clutching a small book that had memories printed across the cover in golden letters. Sherlock slunk down into his chair and flipped through the book, eyes scanning every picture. Lestrade watched with him. The first few pictures Mycroft couldn't get a close look at, but once on page 13 he got a glimpse of the Holmes brother's childhood. The first picture was of a little baby in what looked like a woman's arms. He was wrapped in a blanket sleeping contently. The picture next to it was of a little boy of maybe seven, cradling a small infant in his arms. Lestrade felt the corners of his lips twitch as he realized the children were Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Since when do you keep a scrap book?" Lestrade teased.

"Shut up," Sherlock spat, his eyes finally falling to the picture he was searching for. It was a picture taken in the fall. Red leaves were falling from the trees around two children and pumpkins with their faces perfectly carved into them. One of the little kids sat on the ledge of a large maple tree. He was wearing a pirate coat and hat and was holding his sword out toward the camera. The other child looked utterly miserable. His was dressed up in reddish orange pants with suspenders and had one of those little propeller hats.

"Is that Mycroft!" Lestrade gasped, staring at the miserable boy. Sherlock nodded, a smile curving around his face.

"Now I remember," Sherlock stated. "Mummy wanted us to dress up as characters from Disney movies. I picked the pirate so Mycroft got stuck with Tweedle Dum." A soft chuckle left Sherlock's mouth as the memory made it past the locked doors of Sherlock's mind palace.

"He looks ridiculous!" Lestrade chuckled, joining in on Sherlock's laughter.

Bing!

Lestrade glanced down at his phone to see a new message from Mycroft.

Shut up, Detective Inspector. Maybe you should look through your own scrap book. I especially love the photos of you as Winnie the Pooh.-MH

"How…where did he…never mind. I don't want to know," Lestrade stuttered, shaking his head as his cheeks blushed a bright red.

"He's probably stalking you like he does with everyone else in this flat," John stated, walking over to Sherlock and looking down at the book.

"Oh, Mycroft-"Sherlock's eyes shot up to John in astonishment. "How did you…" Sherlock trailed off. His eyes falling on their attacker, who was laying on the floor with a dark bruise just below his eye brow.

"Umm…John, how…how did you escape?" Lestrade stuttered, completely forgetting about the memory book. John shrugged simply and walked over to the passed out body on their floor.

"You two were a perfect distraction, while I cut my bonds and knocked him off his feet," John stated.

"Glad to be of service," Sherlock shouted triumphantly, while turning back to the memory book. Lestrade stared at the man lying on the floor and then to John and Sherlock. He smiled at them and sat down, looking through the endless supply of photos.

"_I'll have to use these as blackmail on Mycroft,"_ thought Lestrade, devilishly. Lestrade felt his phone buzz, but he didn't touch it. He had a feeling he knew who it was from.


	4. Teacher for the Day

_Chapter 4_

_Teaher for the Day_

The class of freshmen high school students screamed as they threw paper airplanes and spit ball at each other in the old Biology room. The girls sat in the corner by the window, talking about cute boys and the newest fashions. The jockey boys stood around a boy with large glasses and a green flannel. They punched the boy in the gut, sending him to his knees. The class laughed heartily at the nerd as he sputtered on the floor.

"Teacher!" cried a boy with blue dyed hair and a torn up sweat shirt. He smelt of smoke, drugs, and enough alcohol to destroy around thirty kidneys. Everyone dashed from where they stood and skidded to their seats, leaving the nerd on the floor as he slowly picked himself up. Four men walked into the room. One they all knew from spending hour after hour in his office. His balding head was so shiny you could kill ants with it and he wore a way too tight suit. Behind him was a man with salt and pepper hair. He was casually dressed, but his right pocket of his coat was bulging out like there was something heavy there. The shorter man behind him was blondish. He was wearing a jumper and holding an ice pack to his head. A dark purpling bruise was appearing just above his eye and it didn't look like it was going to heal any time soon. He was talking silently to the very tall man behind him. His big dramatic coat was flowing under his feet as he walked. He had dark curly hairs and high cheekbones that made a good number of the girls in class swoon. His eyes were icy, but a smile was painted on his lips as he talked to the shorter man.

"Reggie, what are you doing out of your seat?" the principle asked in a booming voice as he stared down at the nerd of the class. Some of the other students snickered at the nerd as his face paled. The three mysterious men just stared at him. Two looked at him with remorse while the other only stared with no emotion at all. Reggie got up on his feet and hurried to his seat in the very back of the class, somehow managing to get a 'kick me' sign on his back. Once everyone was seated the principle got back to business. "Mrs. Avery is not going to be teaching your class today due to a turn of events. Mr. Lestrade, Dr. Watson, and Mr. Holmes shall be your substitute teachers for the day," he stated. "Any questions?" A snooty girl with blond hair raised her bracelet infested hand. The principle let out long sigh and stated irritated,

"Yes, Penelope?"

"Actually, Principle Stewart, today my name is Susan," the girl stated, sticking her nose up high. Principle Stewart simply glared at her and she carried on with her question. "Are we really that bad that you had to higher _three_ teachers for us?"

"Yeah, Dude, like no need to like double up on us," said a boy with a close shaved head and a huge wad of bubble gum in his mouth.

"Hey, or are these guys like…a couple?" a girl with dark hair, glasses, and a short skirt swooned. Dr. Watson bit down on his lip, frowning viciously, but Mr. Holmes tugged him back. The class simply just screeched in laughter, slapping their hands against the table and shouting insults at the three men.

"ENOUGH!" Mr. Holmes boomed. His voice was deep and cold, sending the students into silence. They stared at him in surprise as he stepped out so now he was in the very center of the large Biology room. Mr. Holmes's eyes swept the room, staring at each and every teenager until they all looked away from his dagger-like eyes. "We are your teachers for the day and you shall treat us with respect if you would like us to treat _you_ with respect. If not…well, you don't want to find that out do you?" A shiver went up the backs of everyone in the room at the last sentence and even the other two teachers looked a bit in shock. Still, everyone remained silent. Principle Stewart smiled at Mr. Holmes, wishing him luck and disappeared through the door.

"So then," Mr. Lestrade began. "Biology." A groan left everyone's mouth in the class as Dr. Watson brought out a thick packet. He passed each one out, giving a glare to any teen who attempted to trip of pin a loser-sign on him. When he came to Reggie's desk in the corner he simply smiled and handed the nerd a packet. Reggie smiled back nervously and watched as Dr. Watson went back up to the front of the class and stood next to his tall friend.

"The lab assignment today is the mixing of different chemical compounds to hypothesize the certain outcomes of the…" The entire class, including the two teachers next to Mr. Holmes lost him after that. There was no telling what he said, so (but mainly to survive) they all just nodded their heads in agreement. "Right!" Mr. Holmes shouted, clapping his hands together and resting them under his chin. "Get started." The student simply just stared at the detective, dumfounded that he actually expected them to do anything. Mr. Holmes's eyes narrowed and his deep voice bounced off the walls.

"NOW!" Everyone bounded up from their seats, grabbing protective glasses and lab coats. They grabbed partners and started their lab, leaving the nerd to work on his own. Mr. Holmes let out a heavy sigh and turned away from the busy students.

"Nice job, _Mr_. Holmes," Lestrade teased. Sherlock glared at him and slumped down into the desk by the Bio teacher's desk and computer.

"I hate high school…and teenagers," Sherlock grumbled as he quickly typed at the absent teacher's computer.

"I don't blame you," John sighed, watching as the teens rummaged around, creating a mess. "Kids these days have no respect what so ever."

"Hmm…no, I meant I hated how stupid they are," Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, yes, sorry. Of course, I should have guessed," John stated, tossing his hands up into the air in defeat.

"Can you two not argue for two seconds?" Lestrade grumbled, rubbing at his head.

"Well, aren't we happy this morning?" Sherlock teased, clicking at a few files.

"I just want to get out of here," Lestrade grumbled. He wasn't kidding. He wanted done with this. He didn't hate high school. It was the teenagers he was worried about. He liked kids as much as the next person, but teenagers were like a completely different species. It was just a bunch of kids that thought they could rule the world. God knows how many teens he's arrested over these long years and this place was like a gold mine, kids drinking underage and doing all kinds of drugs.

_Bang!_

They broke from their conversation as a beaker sputtered a dark back vapor. The jock that had beat up Reggie was covered in black soot and his partner Susan, Penelope, or whatever also was.

"Excellent job Ralf and Penelope!" Sherlock shouted, looking up from the computer.

"My name is Susan!" the girl spat.

"Whatever," Sherlock countered, carrying on with his typing. Lestrade looked over his shoulder as he did so. Sherlock was simply glancing over Mrs. Avery's Biology notes and files. Some files were jam-packed with tests and quizzes and others were of labs and class projects. "Found it!" Sherlock shouted triumphantly. He clicked on the file, opening it up to find an acid like foundation recipe. All but Sherlock raised their eyes at the site of the file.

"Sherlock we are not-"

"Yes, we are. We are the teachers today thanks to _you_, Lestrade, so we might as well play the part," Sherlock mumbled as he stared out into the crowd of students. John frowned at his flat mate.

"Sherlock-" But Sherlock was already on his feet striding out into the circle of desks and consulted the students on their lab experiments.

"I'm guessing that's code for play the dumb teacher act," Lestrade sighed.

"Yep," John agreed, shutting down the computer and striding out with Lestrade to look over the experiments. They all knew something about science so it wasn't completely difficult trying to tell the teens what to do. They still wouldn't have to do this if Lestrade hadn't promised his old friend Diana a Avery to help out with the teaching while she visited family in the hospital. They worked their way down the rows until all three of them stood in front of Reggie's desk. Reggie looked up at them nervously as they stood by his desk, blocking him from the sight of any other students.

"Umm…is something wrong,"

"Not at all, Reggie," Lestrade said calmly. Reggie's nails sunk out of his skin and he managed a small smile.

"I…umm…you-"

"We need an assistant to assist us with a little experiment of ours," Sherlock stated suddenly. Reggie stared at him, his eyes big like puppy eyes. He hesitated, looking down at his hands.

"Don't worry it will only last a little while," John promised the skinny teenager. Reggie stared at the three of them for a moment and then with a small voice he whispered,

"Ok."

* * *

Minutes later they were all busy grabbing ingredients and chemicals Sherlock shouted at them as he fiddled with the high technological instruments.

"Excuse me, Dr…Dr. Watson-"

"John pleases," John interrupted. "And this is Sherlock and Lestrade," he added, pointing his thumb at the busy men. Nervously Reggie nodded and glanced around him.

"Why me?" John stared at him, processing the teen's question. With a sigh he patted the teens shoulder and smiled widely at him while saying,

"Because you need help and that's our job as detectives…err…well teachers today I guess." Reggie's eyes widened through his thick glasses.

"Detectives?" he gasped, suddenly looking even more nervous.

"Not today," Lestrade sighed. "Today we are poor sobs who got pulled into helping teach a class of teenagers and smacked by doge balls-"

"Which never would have happened if we didn't decide to take a short cut through the gym, Sherlock!" John hissed at Sherlock while rubbing at the bruise on his head. Sherlock smirked.

"It is hardly my fault that you didn't duck out of the way." John clenched his fists, face turning bright red.

"You-"

"It's all set! Reggie, bring me that beaker filled with green liquid," Sherlock interrupted as he finished setting up the equipment. Reggie, John, and Lestrade huddled around the lab table and plucked at thousands of test tubes and chemicals Sherlock mixed together carefully. Students began stopping what they were doing and watched the four of them work fiercely at the experiment. Reggie and Sherlock however, were the real stars of the show. Lestrade and John simply just handed the two science nerds anything they needed and watched as the chemicals blended together.

"Is that it?" Reggie asked after pouring in a clear chemical. Sherlock looked at the flask bubbling over a heating torch and shook his head.

"We just need on more chemical for it to work, but if we grab the wrong one…well…" Sherlock trailed off. Reggie simply nodded and walked over to the table next to them covered in chemicals, ignoring all the eyes on him as he did so. Hesitantly he reached for one of the two chemicals left on the table and handed it to Sherlock who was smiling widely. "After you," Sherlock stated, handing the chemical back to Reggie and giving him the floor. Reggie stared at him with nervous eyes and glanced at the class that sat all around the room, watching him intently. With a quick nod from his three teachers of the day he poured the liquid into the hot flask. Everyone stared at the flask, waiting for something to happen. Minutes past until finally the liquid in the flask began bubbling and turned a snot green.

"John, doesn't that look like-"

"Oh, my god-"

BANG!

Thick green slime blew up all over the room, splattering against the skeleton by the door and sticking to everyone's hair and clothes.

"Really, again, Sherlock?!" Lestrade grumbled glaring at the slime sticking to his badge. "This is April Fools Day all over again!" Sherlock laughed simply.

"Well, if Reggie picked the other chemical I laid out we could have just had a series of colorful smoke and that isn't as much fun is it, Class?" Sherlock stated, directing his question to the slop covered class, They were all silent, staring at Reggie in utter shock. The nerd backed up a few paces, feeling nervous with so many eyes on him. That's when Ralf stood from his seat.

"That was Awesome!" Reggie's face fell in shock.

"How did you do that? My band could use that for our gigs!" the boy with the blue dyed hair stated, jumping out of his seat and patting Reggie on the shoulder.

"Epically cool, dude!"

"Want to go out, Reggie?"

"Hey, know any more cool experiments?" Reggie was just pelted by his entire class. Ralf apologized for beating him up before and kids smiled and ruffled his choppy hair.

"Nice job, Sherlock," John stated as they watched a smile appear on Reggie's face. Sherlock shrugged casually.

"It was just an experiment."

"JUST AN EXPERIMENT?!" boomed a voice from behind. The three flat mates whirled around to see Principle Stewart beat red with Mrs. Avery at his side looking just as shocked.

"Uh oh…" the three mumbled.

"Dudes, I think it's time to make like a tree and go," Ralf stated.

"It's supposed to be _Leave_, Ralf," Reggie corrected. Ralf frowned down at the floor, processing this information.

"I don't get it-"

"Doesn't matter the point still stands," Lestrade sighed as Principle Stewart lunged at them. They stepped out of the way of the principle and watched as he slipped onto the goop covering the floor.

"Well, see you later kids!" the three shouted to the kids before darting past Mrs. Avery and into the hall. The teens all laughed, waving goodbye to the best teachers they ever had.

* * *

"We need to get out of here before we are the ones with detention," John gasped as they came to a stop in the hallway.

"We could always take a shortcut back to the cab," Sherlock stated, smiling at the gym just ahead of them. The doors were wide open and doge balls were flying left and right. John and Lestrade paled instantly.

"Not again!"

* * *

**I take requests for chapters. **


	5. A Day With Sick Detectives

_Chapter 5_

_A Day With Sick Detectives_

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked, directing his icy blue stare to Anderson. They were at a case at some fancy restaurant. A poison had gotten into the drink of a man known as Robert Chestington. He was a wealthy man, but (according to Sherlock) was falling into bankruptcy judging by his shoes.

"Well, not everyone has your psychopathic mind-"

"For the billionth time, Anderson, I am a Sociopath! How did…" Lestrade zoned out. He had heard enough of these arguments to be able to tell what was going to happen. With a sigh Lestrade looked up at the sky as if he was going to pray. Oh, how he wished John was here. John would have set Sherlock straight. The man will at least listen to him. Alas, John had caught some virus going around and was shuffling around the flat delirious so he had to stay home away from the fun. Lestrade secretly wished that he was the one who was delirious at the moment. Then maybe he wouldn't be bothered by Sherlock and Anderson's fight. "Lestrade!" Lestrade jumped in surprise at the shout of his name and looked up to see Sherlock with his head in his hands. Lestrade frowned at the sight and glared in Anderson's direction.

"Now what did you do, Anderson?" he spat. A look of both horror and disgust crossed Anderson's face.

"I didn't touch him!" Lestrade waved away his words and slowly approached Sherlock. He let his eyes scan over what was visible of him at the moment. Sherlock's fingers were twitching slightly and his knees seemed to be shaking as well. Lestrade could also make out the smallest hint of sweat trailing down the side of Sherlock's face. "Sherlock, are you alright?" Lestrade asked, touching the younger man's shoulder. Sherlock flinched at the touch, but he still lifted his head.

"Tylenol," Sherlock muttered, massaging his temple lightly. Lestrade rolled his eyes. Yes, of course Sherlock Holmes would be dramatic about something as common as a simple headache. Reaching into his pocket, Lestrade pulled out two pills and thrust them into Sherlock's gloved hands. Sherlock quickly swallowed them, not even giving Lestrade a second glance. Lestrade watched as Sherlock looked over the body of the man. He seemed as cool and collective as usual, except that he seemed to be gradually growing paler. Lestrade frowned at this. Paler? Yes, he was paler than before. His eyes also seemed dulled; like all the life energy was drained out of them. Sweat was also beginning to bead up around his hair line even more now, drenching his curls and causing them to stick to his face.

"Sherlock…" the detective turned away like he was going to walk down the aisles of tables. Suddenly, Sherlock stopped mid-step. He bent over, hugging his stomach and his hand clutched at the white table cloth of one of the elegant tables decorated with fine china. "Sherlock…" Lestrade tried again. Again he didn't get an answer. No, instead he watched as Sherlock's legs buckled beneath him and he went sprawling to the floor. He clutched the table cloth tighter to try and stop his fall, but he only pulled the cloth down with him along with the china plates, sending broken shards all over the floor. Lestrade felt his gut tighten as he rushed down to Sherlock's side as the detective attempted to pull himself up from the floor, cutting his hands and knees on the shards of china.

"L…strade…" Sherlock mumbled as he lay flat against the floor, shivering. He looked like something pulled out of an icy river. Lestrade's hands were quickly on him, holding him down so he wouldn't cut himself on the shards of plates any more. Sherlock didn't put up much of a fight. By the look in his eyes any movement hurt. Lestrade brushed a hand over Sherlock's forehead, noting the fever and clammy skin.

"You clot, you should have told me if you weren't feeling well!" Lestrade shouted at the detective. Sherlock flinched from Lestrade's booming voice and Lestrade quickly corrected himself. Sherlock's head was probably pounding. "Time we got home." Slowly, he lifted Sherlock's shivering form and stumbled as Sherlock used him for support. Lestrade shot a quick glare at Donavan and Anderson as they went for their phones. "None of that! Every time you two post something like this online the press are waiting at the doors of 221B. I'm living with them too now so don't you dare! I am not getting mobbed by the blasted press!" Donavan and Anderson reluctantly shoved their phones back into their pockets. Lestrade gave them one last glare before leading Sherlock away to a cab.

* * *

"Greg!" John chuckled as the DI came in with Sherlock's arm swung over his shoulder. Lestrade smiled faintly at the giggling doctor. His pale skin was rosy around the cheeks and his eyes showed nothing of the usually proper doctor Lestrade knew. In other words; he was still sick. Mrs. Hudson walked into the sitting room then to greet him, but instead ended up gasping in surprise by the state of Sherlock.

"Oh dear, what happened?" Mrs. Hudson asked gently, laying a soft hand on Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's blue eyes opened briefly, revealing a pained expression.

"Looks like I caught what John has."

"Let's hope not! I've seen you delusional once before. I am not going through that again. Especially when both of you would be delusional!" Lestrade snapped, setting Sherlock down on the couch and stripping the detective of his coat and scarf. The man was burning up. Even if he felt cold the extra warmth would do nothing to help his growing fever. Sherlock mumbled in protest, but Mrs. Hudson simply told him she'd make some tea and he instantly grew quiet. Sherlock pulled his knees to his chest as he sat on the couch, teeth chattering.

"Sh…look, let's…go ta An...Jell-O!"

"I do believe you mean Angelo's, John," Sherlock grumbled, covering his face to keep out any unwanted light. John's face frowned for a second and then brightened again.

"I like Jell-O. Do you think the restaurant has Jell-O-"

"John, I swear if you open your mouth one more time I'm knocking you out!" Sherlock snapped, flinching at the rise of his voice. John simply let out another giggle and went over to the fireplace, talking to the skull. When Sherlock raised his head to watch the strange conversation Lestrade jumped into action, thrusting a thermometer into Sherlock's mouth. The detective gagged, making to spit it out, but Lestrade shot him warning before he could do so. Sherlock simply sat still, glaring at the DI like a little child. Lestrade rolled his eyes, pulling the thermometer from the detective's mouth once it beeped. Lestrade frowned at it. His fever was in the high thirties.

"Greg Dear, would you like me to stay and help you take care of these two?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she stepped back into the sitting room, carrying three warm cups of tea for them all. Lestrade shook his head, smiling kindly at the landlady.

"No, I'm sure we'll be fine," Lestrade reassured her. "Why don't you go visit your sister?" Mrs. Hudson's eyes brightened at the suggestion.

"Oh, what a splendid idea but…" She looked at her two sick boys. Lestrade watched her. She was just like a mother to them. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" Lestrade wanted to say no and beg her to stay, but he didn't. Mrs. Hudson of all people deserved a holiday.

"No, go on ahead. I'll call you if there's any change," Lestrade said, opening the door for her. Mrs. Hudson smiled thankfully to him and waved goodbye to John and Sherlock, who simply just gave her some pleasant smiles. Once she was gone Lestrade turned to the detective duo, looking at their flushed faces carefully.

"I'll make you two some tea," Lestrade suggested, walking out of the sitting room.

When Lestrade returned John and Sherlock were both gone. He felt his gut tighten. Damn! He should have known better than to leave the two alone for too long. He rocketed through the flat, searching every nook and cranny, but found them to be nowhere at all. He would have rushed out of the flat and searched the streets if he hadn't heard John giggling upstairs. Lestrade, not wasting a second, rushed up the stairway and burst into John's room. The two were standing on John's bed, pointing darts at Lestrade with wild smiles. Sherlock's curls were drenched in sweat and judging on his manic smile he too had now lost his mind to the fever. Lestrade swore to himself. Of course this would happen. Of course they would go insane and of course they would find a handful of darts. He ducked as John flung a dart at his head. He glared up at the two detectives and they only giggled like school girls.

"Gweeeeg!" John slurred, tripping over the sheets on bed. "C…close da door! Can't see the board!" Lestrade quickly shut the door and dived to the floor before Sherlock could hit him with the pointed darts. _"Where did they even get those darts?"_ Lestrade wondered. Carefully, he crawled out of the line of fire and crawled up onto the bed. He watched as John and Sherlock threw the darts. He suddenly wished that he had hid under the bed instead. Their aim was as good as a fish shooting a pistol. If they aimed at the board on the door somehow it ended up flying out the window and smacking into the sign for Speedy's.

"Lestra-" Sherlock, tripped over the blanket on the bed and fell down on top of Lestrade, pulling John down with him. Lestrade gasped as Sherlock's bony elbow stabbed him in the gut and John fell on top of his head. "Wanna play?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade pushed John off of him and glared at the detective.

"No and you two are banned from all darts!" Lestrade grumbled. John lifted his hand from his pocket, revealing a pocket knife.

"What about da knifes?" John asked, lifting the blade to throw. Lestrade lunged at John, yanking the knife from his hands and chucked it as far away from the bed as he could get it.

"Banned! You two are banned from any sharp or dangerous objects!" Lestrade screeched. He lifted himself up to get out of the room and grab the thermometer and the medicine, but he found that his legs were pinned down. He looked down at his feet to see Sherlock fast asleep on top of them, pinning him down to the bed. "Shoot," Lestrade cursed. If he moved he would wake Sherlock and Sherlock needed the sleep, not to mention if he woke up Lestrade would be stuck with a delusional detective with bad aim. Lestrade looked at the edge of the bed to see John blinking tiredly. He was about to roll up into a ball on the bed when Lestrade acted.

"John?" Lestrade whispered. John looked up at him sleepily.

"Hmm?" John yawned, crawling over to Lestrade's side.

"John, can you try to move Sherlock off – OOF!" John collapsed on top of Lestrade, snoring softly. Lestrade rolled his eyes and suppressed a scream of agitation as he lay under the two rather heavy detectives.

"Oh great!" he grumbled, tossing his hands up into the air. "I'm trapped!"


	6. Cooking with Mrs Hudson

_Chapter 6_

_Cooking With Mrs. Hudson_

"Mrs. Hudson, why are we doing this?" Sherlock asked as he and Mrs. Hudson stood in the very clean kitchen with a camera pointed at them. Bowls were stacked around them and various types of spices and other ingredients cluttered the counter they stood behind. John and Lestrade were busy fiddling with camera wires. Mrs. Hudson chuckled slightly, looking up at Sherlock with her bright smile.

"Oh, it's just a bit of fun, Dear. Anyway, John said that wanted to put up some videos of all of you on his blog," she cooed, brushing a hand against his suit to smooth some of the wrinkles out of it. Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"Who would want-"

"Careful, Sherlock," John began, looking up from the wires of the camera. "She's been looking forward to doing this cooking video and I doubt she'll let you ruin this and make it out alive." Sherlock glanced down at Mrs. Hudson. She was smiling up at him, but her eyes were practically shouting at him to be good. With a sigh Sherlock walked around the counter and plugged in the camera. John and Lestrade stared at Sherlock in surprise as the camera blipped to life.

"Let's get started then."

Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson stood behind the counter as Lestrade manned the camera.

"Welcome to Cooking with Mrs. Hudson!" Mrs. Hudson cooed happily to the camera. "I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"I'm John Watson," John stated, also smiling at the camera. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes at the two of them and slunk against the counter, earning a dangerous glare from his flat mates and housekeeper.

"And this is the Grinch of Cooking," John teased, forcing down a laugh.

"John!" Sherlock whined, his head popping up to glare at the good doctor. John looked over to him, smiling.

"Come on, Sherlock, it's not going to kill you." Sherlock let out a long sigh and glared at the camera.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes." Mrs. Hudson patted Sherlock approvingly on the back and stalked over to a bowl with a vanilla powder in it.

"Today we are going to make a lovely batch of blueberry muffins."

"Umm…Mrs. Hudson, are you sure that's wise?" Lestrade asked, looking over the camera. Mrs. Hudson waved a hand at him and he stuck his head back to the camera. John ducked down behind the counter, pulling out a fresh bowl of blueberries while Sherlock pulled out a carton of eggs and milk.

"Well, let's get cracking!" Mrs. Hudson stated into the camera. That's exactly what they did too. Spoons and bowls flew left and right as the three began their quest to make the most delicious blueberry muffins. The smell was practically overwhelming. The scent of blueberries carried on all around London it seemed.

It had only been a few hours and now they were all standing by a lovely bunch of filled blueberry muffin cups waiting to be cooked.

"Well, that was tediously boring," Sherlock grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. John jammed him in the ribs, reminding him if he wanted to get out of this kitchen with his life he better suck it up and smile at the camera. Sherlock simply just glared at him, but every time Mrs. Hudson glanced at him he slapped on a fake smile.

"So now here we are!" Mrs. Hudson said excitedly into the camera Lestrade was slowly beginning to fall asleep behind. "Now we just need to pop them in and we'll have the perfect muffins! What could go wrong?"

* * *

**_The Blog of John Watson_**

_**Cooking with Mrs. Hudson** _

**_(No detectives or housekeepers were harmed in this video…well, for the most part)_**

_The screen came to focus on a small and very clean kitchen topped with pans and other cooking supplies. Three people stood behind the counter. One was a sweet old lady, one was a short man in a cream colored jumper, and the last was of a very tall man with raven black curls and sharp blue eyes. They each introduced themselves to the camera, a few arguments taking place at the same time. Eventually they began cooking. They mixed up the delicious batter and slowly put the muffin mix in the ovens._

"_Now we wait!" the woman called Mrs. Hudson stated into the camera. They were all about to walk away when a sudden popping noise came from the oven._

"_Sherlock, what's that?" the shorter man known as John asked, wide eyed. Sherlock stared at the oven as fire blazed from it._

"_Firecrackers," Sherlock stated simply, taking a few steps back from the oven. Mrs. Hudson and John both paled._

"_FIRECRACKERS?!" they screeched. Sherlock shrugged._

"_It was for an experiment."_

"_Experiments are for the lab, Sherlock! Not the new kitchen!" the man behind the camera screeched at him. _

"_There's no oven in the lab!" Sherlock countered._

"_Forget it! RUN!" John shouted, grabbing Mrs. Hudson and bolting from the room. Sherlock followed as the man behind the camera ran after them as well, tipping the camera as he bumped it. The camera tipped, showing the living room of new 221B. The image was soon gone however as a sharp explosion broke the speakers and shattered the lens._

* * *

"I can't believe that was a hit!" Lestrade gasped, staring at John's bog. They had only posted the video an hour ago and already they had a million hits. John nodded, sending a few messages to worried fans that they were alright…well, some of them were. Sherlock on the other hand was being dragged through the store at that very moment with Mrs. Hudson in the search of a new oven. Oh well, at least they're bringing home fresh muffins from the bakery.


	7. Skulls and Idiots

_Chapter 7_

_Skulls and Idiots_

Anderson stood in Lestrade's empty office, glaring at the clutter free desk. Well, it was almost clutter free. The only clutter on it was a human skull. Anderson usually would have been out at the party with the others, but this thing had caught his eye. He was so focused he didn't even notice that someone was opening the door to the office.

"Anderson, why are you standing in here with the lights out when the Halloween party is outside with everyone else?" Donavan asked as she opened the door. Anderson glanced over to Sally, who was wearing a witch hat and gown. Her face was painted green and she had a few warts taped to her face. The black dress around her was fitting, but way to long. If she stepped on it just right with her heels she'd have one heck of a fall. At least he wasn't the only one who was going to get teased by Sherlock when he got here. Anderson was wearing a Freddy mask and he knew for a fact that Sherlock would tell him right off that he was incapable of being a skillful murderer. Well, who cares what the Freak says. Anderson bet a hundred that Sherlock would be dressed up as a blood sucking vampire. That would fit him just perfectly.

"Sally, where did this skull come from?" Anderson asked, poking hesitantly at the human body part. It had to be fake of course. Why would the Detective Inspector have a really skull in his office? It just didn't make any sense at all. Sally walked into the office, tripping over her gown a few times. She looked over the smiling skull and smirked.

"That's Billy from the Freak's flat," Sally sighed. "Sherlock had given it to Lestrade, saying they could use it for the party." Anderson frowned at the skull, shivering when it looked as if the thing was smiling at him.

"Why's it still in here?" he asked, glancing at Sally in the corner of his eye. Sally shrugged and walked back to the door, heals clapping loudly.

"Well, 'Cuz it's freaky!" she stated, throwing her hands dramatically into the air. "Are you coming?" Anderson waved a hand at her to go ahead without him and Sally closed the door behind her, leaving him in total darkness with only the hideous skull as company. Anderson sat down on one of the chairs and stared into Billy's eyeless face. Why would the Freak have a skull? He knew that Sherlock was weird, but this was just plain creepy. Maybe it was some sick trophy from a murder.

"Oh for heaven's sake can you quit breathing on me!" Anderson jumped, staring wide eyed at the skull sitting on the desk. Did that thing just speak? He leaned in closer to the skull, looking for any wires that may be visible. He had heard Sherlock was a huge trickster. He wouldn't hold it past the Freak for this strange phenomenon. "Stop it! You're breath smells like burnt brain!"

"How d…do you know what burnt brain smells like-"

"I've been living with Sherlock for years you idiot! Of course I know! Now either eat a mint or back off!" Anderson couldn't believe it. He actually lost it. Years of working with Sherlock Holmes had finally destroyed his mind. He sat back, staring at the skull curiously as it grumbled to itself. If he was mad now he might as well listen to what this thing had to say. Noticing his staring, the scull glared at him. "What you looking at, Idiot?" it hissed. Anderson licked his lips, turning his head to the side like some ugly puppy.

"Um…well, I've seen plenty of skulls before, but none of them have actually spoken to me before." This made the skull laugh and Anderson was afraid its jaw would pop out of place from how hard it was chuckling.

"Trust me, Idiot, I'm one of a kind," Billy stated. Laughter erupted from outside the door as the sounds of drunken singing filled the Yard. Anderson turned away and stared at the door. He should be getting back. He needs to get in some enjoyment before John and the Freak get here. Anderson turned to say goodbye to the skull when he realized the spot was now empty. Anderson frowned, wondering if maybe the skull had fallen off the desk or something. Looking around he found nothing, but then the creepiest thing occurred. With a silent pop the lights in the office blinked out and the only light was the faint spark from the crack in the door. Anderson shot from the chair he had been sitting in, glancing around the room. That was just too weird. Deciding that he had had enough, Anderson made his way to the door. "Leaving so soon, Idiot?" Billy hissed, hovering just above Anderson's head. The young man swallowed a scream as fire blazed in the sockets of the skulls eyes and its teeth chattered together. Not wasting another second he through the door open. He screamed as the skull chased him into the heard of police laughing and singing as the party went on. People stopped and watched him run away from the cackling skull. No one screamed and no one offered any help as he jumped over chairs and tables in order to get away from the cackling skull.

"Leave me alone!" He screamed, stopping as he realized the skull was no longer behind him, but now in front of him. The skull's blazing eyes grew large.

"I'm so hungry!" It cackled, lunging for him once again. Anderson cried out, turning to run. Instead, he ran right into Lestrade, who's arms were crossed over his chest. Anderson quickly flung himself behind the DI, hiding behind him as best he could.

"Hello again, Billy," Lestrade huffed, glaring at the skull with raised brows. He looked both agitated and slightly amused, but the agitation seemed more dominant.

"Oh, Lestrade, you always were a party pooper," the skull rattled, his high pitched voice dropping down to one more of a baritone-like sound. Anderson frowned at the change, but kept silent.

"Yes, now stop scaring my forensics man and join the party," Lestrade said, hands falling to his sides. Anderson gasped in surprise by Lestrade. What was he doing asking this murderous creature to a party. Anderson pinched himself, wishing that maybe this was just the result of watching too much Twilight Zone late at night.

"Fine," the voice wined and then everything made sense. The flames died in the skulls eyes and John stepped out from behind a door, holding onto a sting. He tugged on it, forcing the pulley to drop Billy. A man in a mask then stepped over. He was wearing a pirate hat that covered his face and his large coat hid the rest of him. When he pushed that hat up Anderson gasped at the sight of Sherlock Holmes. In the detective's hand was a voice changer and with a smirk he spoke into it,

"Happy Halloween, Idiot!" Anderson instantly turned red in embarrassment as everyone started laughing.

"How could I have been so stupid to fall for that?" Anderson grumbled, wishing that he would just disappear. Lestrade patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. We'll get him one of these days," the DI stated, glaring at his new flat mates. Sherlock chuckled at them and turned away with John, heading for the doors. Of course they had only shown up to antagonize him. That's all they every seemed to do after all. Before disappearing into the thick crowd the detective called out to them,

"I'd like to see you try!"

* * *

**A big thanks to ConsultingAngelWarlock for the request. Also thank you to the rest of you for sending me requests. You've all been wonderful help. I'll have more chapters written up as soon as possible. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Where's the Jam Gone?

_Chapter 8_

_Where's the Jam Gone?_

Lestrade lay cozily on the couch of 221B. It was a warm Sunday morning and once again his day off. He was home alone except for Sherlock, who was in the laboratory conducting some strange experiment that made the flat rattle every few seconds. As long as he wasn't pestering Lestrade he didn't care what it was he was doing. Flipping through the channels of the television Lestrade heard his stomach rumble angrily. He frowned at it and glanced at his watch. It was late in the afternoon now and he was in desperate need of something to eat. Jumping onto his feet Lestrade made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed some bread and a knife, but when he searched for the jam he ended up empty handed. Lestrade frowned. That didn't make any sense at all. John always had jam in the house. Why wouldn't he now. The man was crazy for it. He had practically torn Sherlock in two the last time the detective had used it for an experiment. Speaking of the criminal in question, Lestrade glared at the closed door with the hazard sign resting off its hinges against the door. Nudging the door open he instantly pressed his hand to his mouth. Black smoke was everywhere and it was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called through the blackened room that smelt strangely of strawberries, coughing as the smoke polluted his lungs. Sherlock stumbled out of a cloud of blackness, hair sticking up in odd directions and face covered in black. He was smiling though, so whatever crazy scheme he was up to it worked. "Sherlock, have you seen the jam?" the DI asked, deciding that perhaps he did not want to know about what Dr. Frankenstein was creating. Sherlock shrugged his boney shoulders, looking at the burnt gunk splattered over the various cabinets and lab tables.

"A bit everywhere I suppose," he sighed, pulling the safety goggles from his eyes and picking a test tube from the table side. "Mr. Sander's was murdered. The temperature the jam blew up must be much higher than what is possible so the-"

"Sherlock are you mad!" Lestrade screeched, yanking on his greying hair in exasperation. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Sherlock frowned at him, tilting his side to the side in confusion.

"I am completely sane Detective Inspector. I was simply stating that the eruption of the jam was-"

"No, no! Sherlock, you know how crazy John is about his jam!" What were you thinking?! Didn't you lean anything from the last time you experimented with it?!" Lestrade shouted, biting his fingernails nervously. They were dead. So very, very dead. Sherlock licked his lips as he squinted off into the distance, trying to recall the experience with John over the jam experiment.

"Hmm…I'm not sure what you mean?" Sherlock sighed. "I must have deleted it."

"I should think so!" Lestrade exclaimed, waving his hands in the air. "The experience was traumatic enough to make even you hid the memory!" Lestrade ignored the frowned Sherlock was sending him and began to pace. What were they going to do? John was at work, but he would be back in less than an hour. Maybe they could get some from the store before he got home. The light bulb flickered above his head and he clapped his hands together like Sherlock always did when an idea came to mind. Perhaps the consulting detective was not only affecting his quickly greying hair, but now beginning to effect on his daily life. Whether that was good or bad he was not completely sure yet. Grabbing the detective tightly by the wrist, Lestrade yanked him out the lab and down the stairs of 221B.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock whined, just having enough time to grab his coat and scarf with his long violinist fingers before Lestrade could slam the door shut behind them.

"We're going to the store whether you like it or not. I am not going to have _'death for destroying_ jam' on my autopsy papers!" Sherlock scrunched his brows together, opening his mouth in attempt to shout at Lestrade that it was not a big deal. Lestrade simply pulled the scarf from Sherlock's hands and stuffed it into his open mouth, silencing the detective. There was no time for arguing. They must act now before John returned.

* * *

The closets store to Baker Street that they did not get kicked out of in less than five minutes was far from their flat. Lestrade didn't think it was possible to get kicked out of five stores in so short of time, but he was shopping with Sherlock Holmes of all people after all. They were both tired now and all they wanted to do was grab the jam and collapse back onto the couch back at Baker Street.

"Oh, jeez. What do we do now?" Lestrade gasped, staring at the thousands of different jams. Sherlock grabbed a jar from a shelf and stuffed it into the shopping basket that swung at his side.

"We pick one, give it to him, and run," Sherlock stated simply. Lestrade stared at the raspberry jam resting in the basket and nodded. They only had a half hour left until John returned home. They couldn't doddle any longer than what they already have. Turning on their heels they walked to the checkouts. To their distaste every checkout had a line stretching with over ten people each and even the self-checkouts were packed beyond compare. Lestrade ran a hand along his face. This was going to take ages!

"Sherlock, can you-" he stopped, lifting his head to see that he was missing a consulting detective. He spun around in the line, realizing that Sherlock had made his way up to the front of the line and was grinning at the woman working the register. Her face was pale and she looked very frantic. Even the people in line looked a bit sympathetic. Sherlock noticed the DI staring at him and gave him a smirk before turning back to the woman and handing her his card. Wait…card? Since when did Sherlock Holmes carry business cards? The woman gave Sherlock a thankful smile, saying something to him. Sherlock nodded, pointing at Lestrade then and the DI got the hint. He passed the others in line, apologizing as he went, but nobody seemed bothered. The woman at the checkout gratefully took the jar of jam, scanning it and handing it too him. Lestrade gave her a quick smile before rushing back to Sherlock's side as the detective hurried to the door.

"So what did you do? Work her over with your charm or insult her?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock snorted, glancing back at the woman with quick blue eyes.

"As usual, Lestrade, you look but do not observe. There was an atrocious amount of makeup on her face, far too much for a woman of her age or stature. Plus, she did not use it to hide any blemishes of any sort. She was hiding bruising. Most likely from a husband, judging on the dirty ring on her ring finger," Sherlock stated in one simple breath. Lestrade's eyes widened and his spun his head back in the direction of the young woman. He could see it now. The cover-up was in patches along her delicate face and her eyes were slightly puffy. "I offered to help her fight against him in court and she offered to check out anything of mine immediately," the detective added. Lestrade nodded, noting to himself to join Sherlock in the case once they finished with John. Sherlock lifted his fingers, waiting patiently for the cabbie to come to a stop.

"Hey, Sherlock?" Lestrade pondered as the jumped into the cab. Sherlock hummed as he rested his head against the window. "Since when do you have business cards?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling his coat caller up around his neck.

"One of John's idiotic ideas for business," Sherlock huffed. "As if the blog wasn't bad enough!" he shouted, lifting his hands up dramatically. Lestrade chuckled silently.

"Admit it, Sherlock, you enjoy John's blog just as much as the rest of us," Lestrade giggled. Sherlock glared at him in the corner of his eye, but a small smile quirked at the corners of his lips.

"Well deduced, Detective Inspector," Sherlock Holmes mused.

* * *

Just as they shoved the jam out of the bag and onto the table John swung open the doorway to their flat and walked into the kitchen, greeting his two flat mates. Lestrade greeted him back and Sherlock simply fiddled with a microscope placed delicately on the clean table.

"Sherlock, you do understand that anything to do with experiments belongs in the laboratory?" John huffed, raising a brow at his flat mate. Sherlock's bottom lip stuck out a bit as the detective pouted.

"John, I cannot possibly work in that lab at the moment. The effects of my last experiment are still airing out the window," Sherlock stated. John threw his hands up into the air, knowing that this fight was not going to end with him as the victor.

"Fine, Sherlock, but don't come crying to me when Mrs. Hudson finds out," John warned. Sherlock froze for a second, fingers twitching, but soon regained his composure and continued fiddling with his microscope. John then glanced at the jam sitting on the table and smiled widely. He scooped it up, grabbing a small spoon and left to the living room. Lestrade and Sherlock both sighed in relief. Thank goodness that ended well.

"Guys?" John's voice called from the living room, sounding both confused and threatening. "Why has my strawberry jam suddenly turned into raspberry?" Sherlock and Lestrade paled instantly and shot from the kitchen towards the stairs, hearing John shouting at them from behind. Yep, Lestrade could see it now:

_Autopsy Report: Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade_

_Killed for destroying strawberry jam and replacing it with raspberry by raging blogger_

* * *

**A big thank you to _ConsultingAngelWarlock_ for the idea. I hope you enjoy this. _The Misty Jewel_ I am working on your request now and I must say that I am very excited with this one. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! **


	9. Break Gone Wrong

_Chapter 9_

_Break Gone Wrong_

John and Lestrade tossed and turned in their beds as Sherlock played his blasted instrument once again at three in the morning. It was not the usual playing either. Sherlock was experimenting to see how smoke from explosive tonics move when the vibration of a violin bounces off of it. Yeah, it was pretty ridiculous. They had both taken turns stumbling down the stairs in attempt to silence the detective, unfortunately that only ended with them rushing back to their rooms coughing up the grey smoke that they had breathed in on their adventure downstairs. Now they both pulled themselves from bed and met each other in the hallway outside their rooms. John, Lestrade realized had heavy bags under his eyes and his hair was a mess. He was sure he looked the same as well.

"I can't take this any longer," Lestrade huffed, glaring down the stairs where Sherlock was playing in the sitting room. Fucking bastard never slept and when he did it was less than 2.1 seconds. Yes, they know right to the very point. Sherlock's sleeping habits are their only obsession in this flat. John ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, nodding with him.

"I think it's time we took a break from Sherlock Holmes for the day," John stated. Lestrade's head popped up to the splendid idea.

"Pub?" he offered. John's face brightened to the idea and the two rushed back to their bedrooms to get dressed.

Once dressed, the two ventured down the stairs into the mad scientist's lair. Smoke was still circling around the room and the sound of high pitched music bounced off the walls. Lestrade held his ears. Sherlock's music was always wonderful to listen to, but when it is three in the morning it sounds like an animal in pain…or maybe it was just Lestrade's sleep deprived body screaming. They quickly grabbed their coats and flung open the doors earning a shout from the detective leaning against the fireplace.

"Shut that door! You're letting all the smoke out!" Sherlock called out. John rolled his eyes, shouting at the detective that he'd choke to death in this stuff. Sherlock only continued playing, pretending that he hadn't heard John. John let out a huff, stepping through the door and walking down the steps.

"We're going out," Lestrade stated, slamming the door behind them. He didn't even wait for Sherlock to answer in anyway. The last thing they wanted to spend any more time in this smoke infested flat.

Sherlock stared at the closed door and felt a smile twitch at the corners of his lip. It wasn't going to be that easy to get away from him. Those two should know that by now. He plopped down on the couch, looking around the now empty flat. He was bored. He had finished the experiment with the smoke ages ago. He had just continued it to keep his mind at bay. With no cases and every book in the flat read he had absolutely nothing to do and now his flatmates were both out. That's when the light bulb flicked on in his head. He hasn't played a good prank on the two in a while. An evil grin parted Sherlock's lips as he stared at the phone resting on the coffee table. Oh, this was going to be good.

* * *

John and Lestrade sat at a table guzzling down their pints as they discussed cases and other things that probably could have gotten them thrown in the loony bin for. Living with Sherlock Holmes will do that for you though. John lifted his hand, calling for another round when his phone went off. The two glanced at the phone sitting on the table, watching as Sherlock's number came up. They looked at each other and then John shoved the phone in his pocket with a smirk.

"If he blew up the flat it's his problem," he sighed, slouching back into his chair. Lestrade lifted his pint in the air and John followed his example, clinking their drinks together and chugging them down. They didn't even notice their phones buzzing none stop in their pockets. They simply continued drinking and gabbing to one another. A few times they were asked if they were alright, but John and Lestrade simply waved them off. They were having the time of their lives. No Sherlock to get them kicked out and no cases to drive them up the wall. What could possibly go wrong?

"Sir?" Lestrade looked up from John to see a young woman standing over him with a phone in her hand. He frowned at the phone and then glanced at John. "It's urgent," she urged, pushing it forcefully into his drunken hands. Lestrade took it reluctantly, forcing it to his ear.

"Yes, what is it?" Lestrade huffed, trying to keep his words from slurring.

"Lestrade!" The DI's head flew back at the painfully loud shriek at the end of the phone. Lestrade blinked a few times, trying to register whose frantic voice it had been. It had sounded like Sherlock's, but there was no way that a man of his stature would cry out like that.

"Who is this?" Lestrade asked, glancing at John worriedly. John set down his pint, leaning forward so he could hear the voice at the end of the line better.

"It's me! Who else you idiot! Pick up your damn phones!"

"Sherlock, leave us alone," John called into the phone, hiccupping a few times. Lestrade grunted in agreement, making to toss the phone back to the woman, but Sherlock's voice came back, sounding a bit more urgent.

"No! Please…I…I was bored and I tried to…to call you…but…" Lestrade stood wobbly from his chair, the look of worry returning on his face.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Where are you?" There was silence on the other end and Lestrade repeated his question a little more forcefully.

"I'm at the flat, but…I didn't mean too, Lestrade! Honest! The boredom just took over and the migranes wouldn't stop, but…before I knew it…" Sherlock's voice trailed off, his rapid breathing could be heard over the line. Lestrade bit at his lip in worry. What could cause Sherlock to get so broken up over? "D…Donavan was r…right. Lestrade, I…I k..kill-"

"Shut up, Sherlock! What are you talking about?!"

"I killed someone!" Sherlock screamed through the phone loud enough to cause everyone in the room to perk up their heads and listen. John jumped from his chair, causing it to collapse to the floor in a harsh crack. Lestrade stared at the phone in his shaking hand, blood running cold. He what?! John then yanked the phone from his hands, shouting into the phone that they'd be home in the matter of minutes. Once John hung up the two dashed from the bar, calling a taxi hurriedly.

* * *

"This is my fault!" John yelped, fingers yanking at his hair. "I know how he gets when he's bored! Some days are worse than others, but I never thought that it would grow to be this bad…" John's voice muffled as he dropped his face into his knees. Lestrade gently patted John's shoulder shaking his head.

"John, it's not your fault!" Lestrade reassured him. "I'm the one that said to go to the pub." John looked up from his hands, shaking his head.

"I was supposed to look out for him," John whimpered. Lestrade went silent, running a hand over his face in agitation.

"We should have picked up our damn phones…" Lestrade stopped and yanked his phone from his pocket. John did the same and the two stared wide eyed at their texts.

_Messages from Sherlock Holmes:_

_Bored –SH_

_We're out of milk –SH_

_Honestly, what can you two be doing? –SH_

_Pick up some aspirin –SH_

_John, Lestrade, Please…I need aspirin –SH_

_This is not a joking matter! Get down here! –SH_

The texts kept on going until it came to the very last one. It was the one text that made both of their skin crawl and feel the guilt slithering evilly through their stomachs.

_Message from Sherlock Holmes: _

_Help –SH_

* * *

The taxi lurched to a stop and the two detectives dove from the cab, tossing the money they owed the driver without a thought and ran up the steps. Lestrade screeched as he slipped on something wet outside their flat. He looked down, noticing something oozing from the bottom of the door. It was red and thick and….and it was blood. Their eyes widened at John turned the door knob, opening the door up as wide as it could go. They gasped in horror. No, it couldn't be! This…this was just absurd! John and Lestrade shared a look as their eyes traveled through the room, crawling up to where Sherlock sat curled up on the floor….laughing to death. Tears rolled down Sherlock's eyes as he watched his friends faces go from worry, to fear, to confusion, and then to realization.

"Sherlock! What the hell!" Lestrade shouted, staring at the dumped over ketchup bottle sitting by the door. Sherlock held his sides, trying to stop the pains he was getting from laughing so hard, but he couldn't. They actually fell for it! What a laugh! He knew they were gullible, but he never thought they would fall for such an act as this! Ha!

"Sherlock, why the hell would you do that? You scared us to death!" John shouted, looking like he was about to slap the detective senseless. Sherlock brushed a hand over his eyes, gleaming up at the two of them.

"Come, come. I do have more control over my mind than you may think," Sherlock stated, getting up from his seat on the floor and picking up his violin.

"But…"

"But nothing. You two were the ones who left me alone. What did you expect to happen?" Sherlock asked, beginning to play a soft and gentle melody.

"We thought you committed homicide!" John shouted in rage, eyes digging into Sherlock's back. That only caused the detective to laugh.

"And let Donavan have the satisfaction that she was right? Not a chance!" Sherlock shouted. John and Lestrade turned their backs to the detective, both steaming in anger. That complete and utter bastard! This was low. What if they had called the police?! He'd be in the slammer and then what would they do?! He definitely wasn't getting away with this one. Not after causing their hearts to jump out of their chest. They both turned in unison, jumping the detective. Sherlock let out a gasp of surprise, trying to kick away, but his two flat-mates held him down. Yes, he was going to pay.

* * *

John and Lestrade sat in a booth at Angelo's now. They figured they'd had a little too much if they had actually believed Sherlock's act. Like Sherlock would ever show so much fear at once. It was strictly impossible for the detective. Lestrade shot a smile at Angelo as he set down their dishes of food. He glanced at the empty seat next to John, frowning.

"Where is Sherlock tonight?" Angelo asked, smiling slightly. John and Lestrade both shared a mischievous grin before turning back to the man.

"Oh, he's a little _tied_ up at the moment," they stated. Angelo nodded, pushing a candle to the center of the table.

"I see. Another case is it?" he asked. John shook his head.

"Not…exactly." He sighed the image of Sherlock tied with duct tape and handcuffs to his favorite chair back at 221B, appearing in his mind. Billy was balanced on his knees, just to patronize the detective. At least he had the skull to keep him company before he died of boredom. John chuckled to himself, taking a bite of his pasta. John and Lestrade 1, Sherlock 0.

* * *

**Thank you _The Misty Jewel_ for the request. I hope you enjoyed it, along with the rest of you wonderful readers. Also thank you _Hello I'm AWESOME- and -WEIRD_ for the homicide/murder idea. I'd be still stuck with writers block without ya my friend! _Rosa Clearwater_ I am currently working on your request now so don't worry I didn't forget about ya ;). **


	10. It's Obvious Isn't It?

_Chapter 10_

_It's Obvious Isn't it?_

Lestrade knew something was wrong the moment he got out of bed in the morning, but he didn't pay any mind to his pounding head and stuffy nose. He had to work today. There had been a murder in the middle of Cardiff and Sherlock of course was not willing to miss it. So that is now why he stood in the freezing rain by a disemboweled body in the middle of some grimy alley. Lestrade was to the point of being ill at the sight, but Sherlock and John just rummaged around the body like it was a Christmas present. Anderson and Donavan seemed to be thinking the same as they stood off to the side, watching the two as they whispered with themselves. Lestrade would have set them strait, but he didn't have the energy. He felt like he was going to pass out any second.

"Lestrade?" Greg looked up to see that Sherlock had moved from the corpse and was now standing over him. John was there too with a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. "Are you alright?" John asked when Lestrade didn't seem to react to his name being called. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but felt a wave of nausea hit him. Luckily, Sherlock noticed and helped him out.

"Nausea, fever, and dizziness…no, John, I don't believe he's alright. In fact I believe he has the flue," Sherlock stated smartly. John rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock I know, I was simply asking out of curticy."

"Curticy? If you stop asking questions like that you would save quite a bit of time-"

"Um…guys, as much as I enjoy listening to you two rant I rather not pass out on the remains of this poor sod," Lestrade struggled, forcing down the bile rising in his throat at the thought of the body. John and Sherlock quickly snapped out of their fight and swung Lestrade's arms over their shoulders, escorting him to the taxi.

"What about the body?!" Donavan shouted out at them as John pride the taxi door open for Lestrade and Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head before helping John push Lestrade into the cab.

"My God! For once can you bundle of idiots handle one simple case without the three of us?"

Back at the flat Lestrade sat on the couch in the sitting room. He had wanted to go to his room, but John had told him that the last thing they needed was for him to fall down the stairs on his way to the loo. So, here he sat with a quilt thrown over his body and a bottle of water on the coffee table next to him. Sherlock was sitting on the chair sipping at his tea as John bustled around trying to find the medicine to help Lestrade's upset stomach.

"Here," Sherlock's low voice said softly, draping a cool cloth on Lestrade's burning forehead. Lestrade flinched, but eventually pushed towards the soothing cloth as Sherlock dabbed at the sweat building on his brow.

"What 're ya doin?" Lestrade slurred weakly as he watched Sherlock care for him. Sherlock glared at him.

"Keeping the fever down," Sherlock said simply, continuing to dab at the sweat that threatened to roll into the DI's eyes.

"But, why?" Lestrade asked, trying to understand. Sherlock could be on a case this very moment. Why was he caring for him? That's when John finally popped back into the room. He was carrying a spoon and a bottle of purple liquid. Both Lestrade and Sherlock wrinkled their noses at the sight of the disgusting liquid. John smirked at him.

"It's either this or you can continue to puke your guts up," John stated. Lestrade let out an unhappy sigh, opening his mouth for the spoon a thick liquid. He swallowed it, hoping that the vile taste of it would not bring it back up his soar throat. John set down the spoon on the table then and pulled out a thermometer, sticking it under Lestrade's tongue. When it bleeped John pulled it out, glancing at Sherlock through his long lashes. Sherlock nodded, dunking the cool cloth into the ice water again and draping it over Lestrade's head again. The DI let out a pained gasp, trying to pull away from the cold, but Sherlock and John held him down.

"Come now, Lestrade. You don't want to end up like me and John when our fevers get too high," Sherlock stated, frowning as the distasteful memory lingered in his mind. Lestrade laughed at that, a hand flying to his throat as it scratched.

"Dear God! If that happens to me please shoot and ask questions later! I'd never live it down!" Lestrade yelped. That earned a laugh from his two flat mates and the three sat together around the couch. John flipped on the television, flipping the station to BBC1. There was some teaser trailer playing for that new season of…hmmm…something that started with an '_S'_ or something. Lestrade let out a long yawn then, slinking further down into the couch cushions. His fingers pulled the quilt closer. "You never answered my question," he said lazily. Sherlock and John looked up at him from the TV, frowning. Lestrade stared up into Sherlock's bright blue-green eyes and realization dawned on us.

"It's obvious isn't it?" Sherlock asked before darkness finally swallowed the DI.

* * *

Lestrade slowly opened his eyes at the sound of soft music playing in the background. Sherlock must be playing again. The soft melody was gentle and had a soothing effect on his pounding head. There was still a cool cloth on his forehead and the television was now focused on some game show. He slowly pulled himself up, finding that John was looking through a book over by the fireplace. Sherlock was the first to notice Lestrade's movement and immediately stopped playing, setting the instrument down on his chair. John did the same with his book when he noticed Sherlock's behavior and smiled in Lestrade's direction.

"How are you…" John stopped, sending a glare towards Sherlock when the detective rolled his eyes at him. "You feeling?" John finished. Lestrade sat up a little more, pulling the cloth off his head.

"Better, thanks," he yawned, stretching his limbs. The two flat mates relaxed slightly. Lestrade watched them, about to open his mouth when his stomach rumbled. He glanced down at his talkative belly and smiled at his two friends. "I think I better make some tea," Lestrade stated, slowly bringing himself up from the couch. He stretched out his stiff muscles and walked into the kitchen. He hummed as he went, grabbing three cups and some sugar. After putting the kettle on he whipped the door open to the fridge, finding the remains of something that looked like it went through a meat grinder.

Lestrade, everything alright..." John trailed off as he stopped at Lestrade's side, both detectives turning a funny shade of green. "SHERLOCK!" John shouted before gagging his way back into the living room. Lestrade slammed the door shut, tossing his head into the sink as his lunch threatened to force its way back up. When a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder Lestrade looked up to see Sherlock holding a glass of water out to him. Lestrade glared at him.

"What is that doing in the fridge?!" he croaked, taking the glass and leaning against the counter. Sherlock smirked, glancing at the fridge in the corner of his eye.

"Oh, I had Anderson bring some samples of the victim from the case earlier. The fridge in the lab was full so…" Lestrade turned another shade of green and Sherlock jumped back a little. A smile quirked at Lestrade's lips and then he remembered something.

"Sherlock, why did you and John look after me instead of continuing the case? I would have been fine on my own," Lestrade asked, taking a sip of water to force the sick taste out of his mouth. Sherlock's eyes smiled and he turned back towards the living room where John was still shouting at him from.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

* * *

**So what do you think the reason was for John and Sherlock dropping the case to care for Lestrade? Thank you Rosa Clearwater for the request. I hope you enjoyed it. I also hope that the rest of you all loved it as well. **


	11. Coats and Fabric Paint

_Chapter 11_

_Coats and Fabric Paint_

Bullets ricocheted across the fabric paint factory. Lestrade jumped behind a few crates of the canned paints in order to dodge the shots. He gasped out for breath as he rested against the crate. They've been dodging bullets for hours now. He wasn't sure how much longer they could take. Why did Sherlock always choose the cases where they all end up running from bullets?

"SHERLOCK!" John's voice bounced off the walls. Lestrade jumped up from behind the crate in surprise, not thinking about his own safety. Why had John sounded so distressed…

Lestrade's eyes flew up to the rafters above them right above the large vats of fabric paint. Dangling from the edge of one of the rafters was Sherlock Holmes and standing over him with her foot slammed against his hand grasping the beam was the criminal that had been shooting them for the past few hours. John was standing a few feet from Lestrade staring up in horror as Sherlock dangled from the rafter. Lestrade lifted his gun, aiming at the woman, but he was too late. Sherlock's attacker thrashed her heal hard again his fingers and with a faint cry Sherlock fell. The woman cackled as his body collapsed into the vat of paint and Lestrade fired, missing the woman completely and she ran off, laughter growing softer as she grew farther away. He didn't care though. His main concern was Sherlock. He and John ran up the stair to a platform that rest on top of the large vat, staring into the thick liquid in hope of finding the detective.

"Sherlock!" they both shouted out in terror.

"What?" coughed a voice from behind. Lestrade and John whirled around to see their detective sopping wet head to toe in bright red paint. They stared at him, mouths dropped open. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and pointed at the rope hanging off the platform. John smirked at his friend then. Sherlock made to smirk back, but a grimace fluttered across his lips and he fell to his knees. John and Lestrade gasped in surprise, grabbing his arms to keep him up. Sherlock shook his head, dizzy from the fall. Once he seemed to regain his composer and stand on his own again John looked Sherlock's form over again, taking in the paint covered detective.

"We're going to have on hell of a time getting that fabric paint out of your clothes," John teased. Sherlock glanced down at himself, mumbling in irritation. Lestrade let out a laugh, striding to Sherlock's side.

"Don't worry, Mate! If Mrs. Hudson can get leftovers from your experiment out of your clothes than she can get a little paint."

* * *

Ok, maybe getting paint out of Sherlock's coat was a little harder than any of them had thought. It had been several days since Sherlock's swim in the paint. They had caught the woman eventually, but they had lost the coat. The red stains even made Mrs. Hudson upset. She tried everything she could muster, but the stains just wouldn't come out.

"Sherlock," John began. He had called Sherlock into the living room, prepared to break the news to the detective. At least Mrs. Hudson was witnessing it. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't try to strangle him then. Sherlock stared at him through wet tousled hair. He still looked like a mess after taking several thousand showers after the incident. Red dyed his raven black hair in some spots yet and his usually pale skin was still a little pink from scrubbing the paint off. John took another breath, ignoring the icy glare he was getting. "I'm sorry, but I think it's time to hang up the coat." Sherlock's eyes widened in terror and his mouth fell to the floor. John flinched at the look Sherlock now gave him. He hated that look. When Sherlock wanted to he could pull off the puppy dog eyes perfectly with those stormy blue eyes.

"But, John, I…"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but we've tried everything," John whispered, glancing at Mrs. Hudson and she nodded sadly. Sherlock jumped from his seat, grabbing John's shoulders roughly.

"John, I need it! Please, John, PLEASE!" Sherlock wailed, shaking the doctor hard. John bit down on the inside of his cheek. Damn. He was using the P-word. The only reason Sherlock Holmes would ever use such words was if he was actually desperate. This was one of those times.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, but it's trash." With that John disappeared upstairs where he bumped into Lestrade on the way up. The DI must have been listening in to the conversation. He and Lestrade glanced back down the stairs only to see Sherlock pacing the floor, shouting after John in a pleading voice. Lestrade flinched at Sherlock's words as he whined none stop. John covered his ears, slinking to the floor.

"Well, that went well," Lestrade sighed, frowning down the hall to where Sherlock sat at the bottom of the stairs. John let his face fall into his knees.

"I hate it when he does that," John mumbled. Lestrade glanced at the stairs again.

"There is one thing we could try," Lestrade suggested. John's head popped up and Lestrade smirked. "It's time to call in the British Government.

* * *

It was an hour later when Mrs. Hudson had somehow gotten Sherlock out of the flat for a while. John and Lestrade didn't ask questions. As long as Sherlock had no clue what they were up to they were fine with whatever he and Mrs. Hudson did out in London today.

Now, in the very humid sun Lestrade and John stood outside of the old Holmes manor. The manor as Mycroft had put it was now just a summer home to him and his brother, but it had once been their childhood home. Mycroft stood next to them, with a huge pressure washer sitting just behind him. If this didn't get the stains out then nothing would.

"Alright, Mycroft! Hit it!" John shouted after securing the coat against a stone wall so they could keep it secured. Mycroft nodded and water sprayed out at the coat in unexplainable speed. Lestrade jumped back as some of the water blasted at him, getting the left side of his pants completely soaked. They watched as the red drained down from the coat into the mud and John felt a thrill of hope bubble through him.

"Sir!" Called one of Mycroft's men from the main controls of the machine now cleaning Sherlock's coat. The three turned as the man in a black suit opened his mouth to shout out to them, but he was too late. The pressure became too much and the nozzle of the instrument burst, spraying fast water all around them. Lestrade and John dived into the freshly cut grass, dodging the spray of water and allowing it to his Mycroft right in the chest. The older Holmes gasped as the cold water smacked against him and dove behind one of his vehicles.

"Why must these things always happen to us?" Lestrade grumbled, but no one heard him. They were all concentrating at the controls. Lestrade glanced at the controls for the power washer with them and slowly began to crawl his way towards them. Once he had made it to the controls all he had to do was hit the button and not get blasted to the next country by the hard water. Taking a deep breath Lestrade lunged up, lifting his hand to his the button when-

_Smack!_

Water sent him flying in the other direction directly into Mycroft. The elder Holmes hissed in rage by the occurrences and shouted at his men to stop the machine, but they were all blasted away by the water one by one. John was their only hope. He was the last one standing. John took a glance back at the pinned up coat that was now dripping wet and slowly made his way towards the controls. His hands gripped tightly around the grass as the water hit him and tried to toss him away like the others, but he held on. He was too stubborn to give up just yet. He continued his crawl, shivering from the water that now soaked his clothes. Finally, he came to the same spot Lestrade had sat. He glared up at the red button sitting in the middle of the control panel and gritted his teeth. Here we go! With all his might he flung himself up at the control panel, prepared to smack the off button.

* * *

"We're back!" Mrs. Hudson called as she opened the door to the flat. She strolled in, gasping at the sight of Lestrade and John wrapped in towels and shivering from the cold water. "What happened here?" she asked, hand covering her mouth as she took in the sight. John sniffled slightly, forcing his teeth to stop chattering.

"W….We…t…tried to clean Sh….Sherlock's coat with a….power washer, but…it m…malfunctioned," John stuttered. It had taken him and the others ten more tries to hit the off button to the presser washer after John had been blasted away like the others. Now they were cold, wet, and bruised up from their little battle. Mrs. Hudson broke into a fit of laughter then and all three men glared at her, not getting the joke at all. She swiped at her eyes as tears threated force their way through from laughing so hard and she turned her head towards the door.

"Sherlock, come on in," she called towards the door. Everyone watched with hateful eyes as Sherlock strolled inside wearing a brand new coat that looked exactly like the last one. "We got it at this lovely little shop a few miles from here," Mrs. Hudson stated proudly. Sherlock turned around in a circle, allowing the cloak to flow in a circle around him. John and Lestrade glanced at the now perfectly clean coat they had spent their day getting soaked for in. Ok, maybe they should have asked what those two were going out for. Just then-

_Splash!_

Sherlock gasped as Mycroft dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, drenching the new coat and Sherlock along with it. Lestrade and John stared in shock at the elder Holmes with a white towel draped over his shoulder. The older Holmes had been making tea in the kitchen. They had completely forgotten that he was still here. Sherlock glared up at his brother and Mycroft glared back.

"Next time, little brother, fall into a vat of disappearing ink," Mycroft spat. Sherlock frowned in confusion by his brother's words and Lestrade and John both broke out in laughter.

* * *

**Thank you ****The Misty Jewel**** for the request. **


	12. The Baker Street Pirates

_Chapter 12_

_The Baker Street Pirates_

"Darling, can you please wake Greg from his nap?" Sweet old Mrs. Hudson asked six year old John in a motherly tone. The little boy dressed in a jumper nodded, rushing into one of the bedrooms of Mrs. Hudson's day care. John was just one of the three boys Mrs. Hudson watched. His older sister Harry was always drinking and Mrs. Hudson was always happy to watch him while she sobered down. He was a sweet boy and didn't need to see his sister like that.

"Mrs. Hudson?" called a groggy voice from the bedroom doorway. She perked up staring at John and a boy with silverfish hair. It was an unusual hair color for a child his age, but Mrs. Hudson loved it. It reminded her of the reflection of silver stars in still water.

"Did you have nice nap, Greg?" she asked, smiling at him. The boy nodded, turning his head as John stepped back through the door, carrying a colorful crayon in his small fist. He let out a tired yawn and stumbled his way to the kitchen, John following close behind. Mrs. Hudson watched them go. Gregory Lestrade was the oldest boy she watched over at the day care and one of the most behaved. John followed the rules well, but on occasion the boy did try to sneak off with-

BOOM!

Mrs. Hudson gasped as black smoke drifted into the living room and ran into the kitchen, searching for the boys. John and Greg sat on the floor coughing while another small figure sitting by the microwave giggled with excitement of the reaction of his experiment. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips playfully.

"Sherlock Holmes, what are you doing to my bloody kitchen?" she asked. Sherlock turned to her, pulling his goggles from his messy face. His dark curls fell into his blue-green as he grinned at her widely.

"Mrs. Hudson, I am simply conducting an experiment on how long macaroni can withstand heat until becoming a dangerous bomb-like substance," Sherlock informed her. She held back the urge to let her jaw drop. Sherlock was by far the youngest of the group of youngsters she had and yet he was the most brilliant, adventurous, brave, and stubborn child she had ever met. Yet, she loved him like he was her own son. She had been surprised she was even allowed the honor to look after him. The Holmes family was already a very protective and proper family. She couldn't believe it when one of the butlers had brought Sherlock to her steps. Still, she's never once regretted letting him through her doors.

"Sherlock, what did I say about blowing up the kitchen?" Mrs. Hudson questioned. Sherlock waved his small hand at the demolished microwave.

"But, Mrs. Hudson! When I run into a case when I become a detective I will need to know this," Sherlock reasoned. Mrs. Hudson was tempted to ask for what reason a detective would need to know what temperature macaroni explodes in a microwave, but she stopped herself. Instead she act simply,

"I thought you were going to be a pirate?" The dark haired boy lowered his head, his mask cracking in the eyes.

"Mycroft said that pirates is not a respected position and for fools," Sherlock pouted, lifting those sad blue eyes to meet hers. "I am not a fool!" Sherlock defended, voice cracking slightly. Mrs. Hudson lowered herself on her knees, taking Sherlock's hands in hers.

"No, Sherlock, you are no fool," she said, bringing him into a small hug. The boy stiffened slightly at the physical contact, but after a second or two he wrapped his arms around her. She brushed her fingers through his curly mop of hair, kissing him gently on the head before meeting his eyes once again. "You know what?"

"What?" Sherlock asked; mask slowly rebuilding itself to hide the emotions the boy was feeling. Mrs. Hudson turned her head to Lestrade and John, her hands pulling two pirate hats from her pocket and pulling them over the boys' heads. They giggled loudly at the pirate hats on top of their heads and then Mrs. Hudson put on Sherlock's captain hat. The boy beamed brightly, giggling when the big feathers brushed at his cheek.

"Pirates are respected people in my care," she said with a wink. Sherlock's eyes brightened and Mrs. Hudson let out a laugh, taking the three boys' hands and walking them to the living room.

* * *

In a matter of minutes they four had made a ship out of pillows and blankets. John had pulled out a laundry basket and set it on top of the couch, creating a crow's nest and Lestrade had pulled the detachable wheal from their toy car to make the wheel. Sherlock went to slip behind the wheel, but a gently hand stopped him. He turned around to see Mrs. Hudson dressed in a hat and a toy parrot sitting comfortably on her shoulder.

"Hold on Sherlock," she said, pulling something from behind her back. Sherlock tilted his head curiously at the mass of fabric in her hands. "Every captain needs a coat." Sherlock's eyes widened as Mrs. Hudson draped the big black coat over his small body. John and Lestrade clapped in awe of their captain as he twirled in a circle, hands spread wide apart. "It's very big, but I figured you'd grow into it eventually," Mrs. Hudson added. Sherlock looked down at himself, a smile growing larger across his pale face.

"It's perfect," was all he said before turning to his two crew mates and ordering them to prepare the ship. First mate John Watson took his side next to Captain Holmes by the wheel and second mate Gregory Lestrade jumped into the laundry basket, holding a plastic cup to his eye so he could see anything far away. Meanwhile, third mate Mrs. Hudson snuck into the kitchen, cleaning up the previous mess and put a a try of cookies into the oven.

* * *

"Fire the guns!" Captain Sherlock shouted. John and Lestrade bolted from their places, grabbing their water guns and began to shoot at the second ship of pillows and stuffed animals across the room. Sherlock pulled out a wooden sword, his two crewmates following his lead. "Surrender your treasure and your gold!" Sherlock shouted at the stuffed bear with a pirate hat on his tilted head. The bear stayed silent and Sherlock's eyes burned in anger. "Board the ship!" he shouted to his crew of two and a handful of stuffed animals. John and Lestrade shouted in excitement running across the arm of couch and jumping into the pillow ship. Sherlock followed close behind, stabbing the teddy with his wooden sword. The three boys cried out, slashing at the stuffed animals and shooting them with their water guns…er…_cannons_.

"Boys, cookies!" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. The boys halted what they were doing, tummies grumbling. John and Lestrade glanced between Sherlock and Captain Teddy.

"Truce?" they offered. Sherlock glared down at the half beaten teddy bear and dropped it, stepping back and nodding in agreement his two best and only friends. The boys nodded back and the three ran into the kitchen to find Mrs. Hudson flipping chocolate chip cookies onto a blue plate. Each of the pirates took their places at the table, taking a cookie from the table.

"Mrs. Hudson's cookies are the greatest buried treasure ever!" John stated, shoving an entire cookie into his mouth, smearing his lips with melted chocolate. Mrs. Hudson beamed at him, handing a glass of milk over to the boy. He took it thankfully, jumping as someone knocked on the door.

"Must be you're brother, Sherlock," Said Mrs. Hudson as she made her way to the door. Sherlock instantly slumped into his chair.

"But I don't want to go," he whined. The door opened, revealing a butler and a boy. The boy was seven years older than Sherlock and was a little larger and dressed tightly into a suit. Mrs. Hudson never understood why every time she saw the Holmes boys they were always wearing suits. It didn't seem like something children of their ages should be wearing.

"I have come for my brother," Mycroft stated, staring at Mrs. Hudson with emotionless eyes. She nodded, turning to see that Sherlock was standing behind her leg, hat gone but still wearing the coat she had given him. Mycroft did not look amused by the odd outfit. "Sherlock get rid of that _thing_ and come along. We have work to do," Mycroft spat. Mrs. Hudson flinched. What work did someone younger than five have to do? A sad glint fluttered across Sherlock's face as he slowly began to pull his arms from it, but Mrs. Hudson stopped him.

"Oh, keep it, Sweetie," she told him. "It suits you." The sadness in Sherlock's eyes vanished, replaced by a shimmer of glee and he wrapped his arms around the one person that actually cared for him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he whispered. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before letting go and John and Greg jumped to Sherlock's side, wrapping their arms around him, giggling.

"See ya later, Sherrrlock!" Lestrade giggled.

"Ya, we can play pirates again tomorrow!" John laughed.

* * *

Sherlock bolted up in the couch, breathing heavy from the strange dream he had just had. He looked around the flat, finding no sign of stuffed animals and pillows. Thank god for that! With a sigh he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled onto his feet. John had been right that he needed to start getting more sleep, but he wasn't going to let his friend know that. He made his way to the kitchen, smelling something sweet. When he entered he found Lestrade and John sitting at the table with Mrs. Hudson. A blue plate filled with chocolate chip cookies was piled on the table. He felt a smile tug on his lips and took a seat next to John and Mrs. Hudson, steeling a cookie for himself. He glanced around him at the smiling faces seated next to him and glanced at the coat he was still wearing. Well, maybe it all wasn't just a dream after all.

* * *

**I was originally writing a chapter with Sherlock and Donavan, but then this popped into my head and I just had to write it. I love Kid!Lock so much! It's so cute. Hope you all enjoyed it!**


	13. A Day Out with Donavan

_Chapter 13_

_A Day Out with Donavan_

This was insane. Of all the jobs she could have been stuck with she got babysitting the Freak. Lestrade had left London for a cousin's wedding and John of course was on a date and didn't want; and I quote: "Another incident like the circus fiasco." Sherlock of course didn't have anywhere to be and for some reason John called her of all people to keep an eye on him. She had asked why John didn't just phone Molly, but apparently the girl was working and couldn't have any distractions. Then she asked why the Freak's equally freakish brother isn't watching and Sherlock had jumped right up saying that they would destroy all of London if they had to spend an entire night together.

"Donavan, I said pass me a pen," Sherlock's voice called from the kitchen. Donavan rubbed her eyes tiredly, sitting up from the couch and flipping of the television. She strolled into the kitchen, finding the Freak exactly like she left him about four hours ago. His eyes are glued to his microscope, peering into the dish of some strange substance and his hands were tapping lightly against the table.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, still rubbing drowsily at her eyes. She didn't know why she was so tired. When she first stepped into Baker Street this morning she had been wide awake. Sherlock half glanced at her while rolling his blue-green eyes and began tapping a little louder.

"I said to pass me a pen," Sherlock repeated, irritated. Sally frowned, glancing at the clock.

"When?" she questioned. Not looking away from his microscope even to see her face he stated,

"About two hours ago." Donavan shook her head, opening the door to the fridge as her stomach rumbled. God she was starving. She glanced around, gagging at the various body parts taking over the fridge.

"Sherlock, I thought the new lab was where you were supposed to keep this stuff!" she shouted over her shoulder. Sherlock mumbled something about idiocy and about the lab fridge blowing up. She wasn't really listening. All she could hear was her stomach. She glanced around. There was nothing edible in this flat. How are Lestrade and John still alive? Everything here is rotten or was used as an experiment. "We should go out," Donavan said suddenly.

"My apologies, but I am hardly flattered by your offer. I am married to my work and-"

"Oh for god's sake, NO! I meant we should get something to eat before we starve!" Donavan corrected, cheeks turning red in either anger of embarrassment.

"I can't help it you can't pronounce your own vocabulary correctly." Nope, it was anger. Donavan ran a hand across her face, glaring at Sherlock through her fingers. Sherlock glanced at her finally from his microscope. "We could go to Angelo's. I and my friends eat for free," Sherlock suggested. Donavan's face brightened.

"Perfect!"

"I said my friends, Sally. You are simply an annoying fly buzzing around my head," Sherlock corrected her, getting up from his seat and grabbing his coat and scarf. Donavan scowled at him as he tied his scarf around his neck. Oh, how she wanted to strangle that skinny throat of his. "I've been strangled before, Donavan. In all cases if you wanted to get rid of me that for one obviously does not work," he stated like he had read her mind while tossing her jacket at her. Her fingers fumbled as she caught the coat flying at her face and once again sent a glare towards Sherlock, but he was already rushing down the stairs. With a heavy sigh she pulled on her coat and followed Sherlock down the steps.

* * *

The restaurant was nice. It wasn't too fancy and it wasn't like those diners with the torn up leather booths. This one was pleasant and had a very warm atmosphere to it. She sat on the opposite side of Sherlock who had busied himself by staring out the window and tapping annoyingly against the table. Donavan gritted her teeth, using all her will power not to just stab him with her butter knife.

"Sherlock!" a delightful voice shouted from the edge of their table. Sherlock's fingers ceased their drumming and his blue eyes smiled up at a man.

"Hello again, Angelo," Sherlock stated simply. The man called Angelo wrapped an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, laughing like the two were very old buddies. Donavan slouched back in her seat, taking in the two as they quickly chattered back and forth. Well, it was mostly Angelo who spoke. Sherlock simply looked up at him smiling and nodding as he spoke. Well, it appeared Sherlock knew not to bite the hand that feed him. finally, Angelo realized that Sherlock was not alone and looked Donavan up and down.

"Well, I never! Sherlock Holmes on a date!" If she was drinking something Sally would have spat it out all over at that moment. Date?!

"She's not my date. She's-"

"His babysitter," Donavan interrupted Sherlock smugly, reaching her hand out to Angelo's. Angelo took her hand, glancing between the hateful stare down between her and the great detective.

"Umm…I'll get some more coffee," Angelo decided, quickly rushing away from the two so he wouldn't get pulled in to whatever war the two were going to start. However, nothing started. They sat in a uneasy silence, refusing to look at each other. Sherlock continued staring out the window and drumming his fingers against the table. Donavan kept her eyes on her menu. "Oh, hello!" Angelo's voice yelped kindly from the doorway. Sherlock's head perked up then and Donavan glanced over to the two small figures standing in the doorway. They were children, homeless children. Each of them wore ratty looking clothes and had uncombed messy hair. Sally waited to hear Angelo tell them to leave, but the man only pointed to the booth behind Sherlock and Donavan's. The boys thanked Angelo silently and made their way to their booth, glancing at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock simply nodded his head at them and turned his attention back to Donavan.

"Do you know them?" she asked, already knowing the answer was yes. She had heard about Sherlock's Homeless Network, but she never expected children to be in on it.

"Yes, they are part of my Homeless Network called the Baker Street Irregulars. Since they are merely children I send them out to listen in on conversations or other things that small children can get away with. I usually pay them more as well," Sherlock sighed, watching the boys through the reflection in the window. Donavan frowned.

"I didn't think you liked kids?" she huffed. Sherlock's eyes were still trained on the boys sitting behind him. He didn't say anything to her and Donavan didn't care. If he didn't want to speak who cared? Certainly not her. She went back to looking through her menu, only looking up when she heard glass shatter against the floor. Her and Sherlock looked up to see the smallest of the two boys on his hands and knees, picking up that shattered glass of water on the carpet. His friend was mopping up the mess with a napkin.

"What the hell is wrong with you filthy rats?!" The man in the booth across from the two boys shouted, slamming his meaty fist against the table. The boys both flinched at his booming voice and slunk back.

"Was an accident, Gov! Honest, Reggie didn't mean none!" the oldest yelped. The man's face grew more hateful and he got up from his seat lifting his hand up.

"Don't you lie to me you beggars!" The man shouted, letting his hand fly at the boys. Donavan hopped up from her seat, but Sherlock had been faster. She watched as the detective stepped in front of the boys, grabbing the flying fist with one hand and holding it in mid punch. The man tried to pull away, but Sherlock only squeezed the attacker's wrist into the bones slowly started to make cracking sounds. "Who the hell…Let go of me!" the man growled. Sherlock's eyes burned into the man and Donavan held her breath as she watched Sherlock's mask shatter and reveal the worst case of hate she had ever seen in someone's head.

"Who I am is no concern of yours. You should be more concerned on apologizing to Reggie and Seth here," Sherlock spat, waving his free hand at the boys Sherlock's body was protecting. The youngest boy Reggie had his arms wrapped around Sherlock's leg like a child did with their parents when they were nervous or scared. Seth stood leaned against the table, shaking. The man sneered at Sherlock.

"Why would I do that to those thieves?! They're medaling thieves! That boy was glancing at your pockets since he came in and there was no doubt in my mind that he was going to make his move for whatever is in there when they were picking up that glass!" An arrogant laugh left Sherlock's lips and he pulled out a slip of paper. Donavan squinted at the small writing on the slip. There was just an address written on it.

"They weren't trying to steal a thing. They were simply waiting for me to give them a job," Sherlock stated. The man frowned.

"Job?" Sherlock nodded.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and they are part of my network to help fight crime. Actually, these boys are the reason you can sleep at night without fearing someone is going to slit your fat throat!" The man's eyes widened at the mention of Sherlock's name and he instantly turned his gaze to the boys standing behind Sherlock.

"My…my apologies, Mr. Holmes, I-"

"Those boys are the ones you should be apologizing to," Donavan snapped, stepping forward. The man turned his glare on her now, but he instantly stepped back as she flashed her badge. "I said to apologize, Sir," Donavan repeated.

"You heard the Sargent," Sherlock spat, releasing the man's hand. The man held his hand with his good one and the boys peaked out from behind Sherlock. He glanced at Sherlock and Donavan in search for an escape, but when he realized this was either life or death he bowed his head.

"I apologize for my behavior, Boys. I was mistaken," the man grumbled. A cruel smile slipped across Sherlock's face then.

"Now get out and don't you dare raise a hand at these boys or any other or next time I _will_ break you hand." With that the man ran out of Angelo's, leaving Sherlock, Donavan, and the boys standing in with middle of the restaurant with all eyes on them. Moments later Angelo began clapping for them, being followed soon after by all the others in the restaurant and a few others who had come in to witness what was occurring. Donavan and Sherlock ignored the clapping and turned to the two Homeless boys. "Here," Sherlock said while handing them a few slips of money to the boys. "This should cover for the trouble you both have been put through tonight." Seth took the money from Sherlock, eyes widening.

"Th…thank ya, Mr. Holmes!" he cried, squatting down to Reggie's height to show the small boy. Reggie's eyes widened in surprise and he turned to Sherlock, making strange symbols with his hands. Sherlock lifted his hands up, making strange symbols back at the boy who smiled gratefully at him. The boys then turned to Donavan, thanking her the same way they had Sherlock. Sally understood what he was doing. He was using sign language. Her heart melted for them even more than it already had and she gave them her kindest smile. Smiling, she told them to take care of themselves and the boys made their way to the doorway on their way back to wherever home was.

"Well, that was exciting," Sherlock huffed before collapsing back into his seat. Donavan followed, watching through the window as the boys disappeared down an alleyway.

"They didn't even get served anything to eat," Donavan murmured with worry. Sherlock chuckled.

"They weren't here for food, Donavan. They were here for my orders. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Yes, but they still looked hungry!" Donavan argued. Sherlock stared at her, head prompt up on his hands.

"You did very well, Donavan. I'm impressed," Sherlock said, changing the subject. Donavan smirked at him.

"You weren't so bad yourself. Looks like the great Sherlock Holmes as a heart after all." Sherlock snorted, closing his menu and waving Angelo over. Angelo skidded over, taking the menus and their orders.

"If you're so worried I can send a message out for them to come back to the restaurant once they finish and get Angelo's homemade pasta for free," Sherlock stated, answering Sally's owrry from before and winking at Angelo. Angelo laughed at Sherlock, nodding in agreement.

"Two specials on the house and pasta for later!" Angelo repeated, scribbling on his paper. Donavan waited for Sherlock to stop Angelo and tell him that she wasn't counted as a friend and there for did not get anything on the house, but the detective stayed silent. Instead he just sat silently, sipping at the coffee Angelo had poured into his cup.

* * *

**This turned out way differently than what I had intended. Wow. I was kind of iffy about putting Sherlock and Donavan in a chapter with just the two of them, but I think it went well. I didn't have them kill each other so that was a slight plus. I like Donavan. She actually is a good character when you think about it. She sticks to what she believes in, but it obviously isn't **_**always**_** the best. Anyway, _Misy Jewel_, I will be starting on your idea. Thank you once again. Anyone else with ideas please feel free to send them to me. Thanks and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	14. Consulting Painters

_Chapter 14_

_Consulting Painters_

The art museum was supposed to act as a distraction. It was another one of those days where cases were sadly not popping up on the front door of Sherlock Holmes's flat fast enough and of course Lestrade was the one to come up with the idea of going to the new art Museum. They were in the painting section now. John was peering at a sunflower painting by Vincent Van Goph and Sherlock (as usual) was looking as bored as ever. Lestrade ignored the detective's whining as he walked over to a painting of a manor illuminated by the light of a crisp crescent moon. Dark red roses and day lilies surrounded the home and in the top window you could see a small boy staring out into the night. It was absolutely beautiful. John strolled over to them, staring at the painting with wide eyes.

"That's beautiful!" John explained, looking it over. No one noticed Sherlock rolling his eyes at them. They were too overwhelmed by the painting. "Who's the painter…?" John trailed off as his eyes fell down to the identification paper under the painting. Lestrade followed his eyes and his breath caught in his throat as he read the name.

Painted by: Vernet Holmes

All eyes turned to Sherlock, who was watching the two of them quizzically. John tried to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth. He was too struck by their find.

"You…you're related to a famous painter?" Lestrade finally sputtered out. Sherlock's eyes scanned the painting carefully, tracing every line and pattern before meeting Lestrade's bewildered gaze.

"But of course. The Holmes family is most famous for its artistic qualities. Uncle Vernet was a French painter, but most of my family is well known for their musical art. Well…all except for Mycroft," Sherlock stated the last bit with a snicker.

"So you can paint?" Lestrade questioned?" Sherlock stopped snickering and gave Lestrade a nod.

"Yes, Uncle Vernet made sure Mycroft and I were taught the art of painting," he informed the DI. John's eyes brightened up at that.

"So you can paint just like me!" John exclaimed excitedly. A smirk fell over Sherlock's lips and Lestrade took a step back. He was not getting into this one. He had enough grey hair from these fights to last him the rest of his life.

"John, I've been taught to paint since I could crawl. My painting is of much higher standards then you," Sherlock smugly stated. Lestrade flinched at the harshness of his words. He was either really stupid or really bored to insult John like that. It was like he was trying to get John mad at him.

"I can paint just as well as you," John put in, crossing his arms and sending a glare at the detective standing in front of him. Sherlock's eyes glittered to life at that. Oh god, here we go again.

"Prove it."

* * *

The museum had surprisingly set up a small area for Sherlock and John, providing them with a canvas each and some paints. Of course the catch was that the public got the chance to watch the detective duo paint. The paparazzi were soon surrounding them in a matter of minutes. That was no surprise at all. Lestrade had been given the honor to decide what they paint and his plan was simple. They would paint 221B. It was simple, but still tricking. Painting all the clutter of the sitting room was going to be challenge enough though. Sherlock was looking quite annoyed with the noisy crowd, but after drifting off to his mind palace his brush caressed the blank canvas gently, striping it with a brilliant blue. John had appeared more nervous by the second as the crowd grew, but he kept his concentration on the canvas. Lestrade stood off to the side, watching the colors on the pages come to life. Sherlock's hand movements were graceful along the painting and so were John's. It was an amazing sight to watch. Finally, the brushes stopped and the two stepped away from their canvas's, revealing the beauty hidden on the once white surface. Lestrade and the crowd all gasped at the sight of the two paintings sitting side by side. Sherlock's was of course in the living room of the old 221B. The fire was blazing softly in the fireplace as he and John were painted in their chairs. It appeared that the two were in a deep conversation and the painted Sherlock was gesturing to a small file in his hands. The fire seemed to bounce of the walls and create perfect shadows of the room and the small painted window's looked out into the streets London. Next was John's painting. It was also of 221B, but completely different. This time they were in the kitchen. Sherlock was perched at his microscope while John stood with the fridge half open, revealing a mess of severed heads and fingers. The dim light of the kitchen cast strange shadows over the room and the facial expressions resting across the two painted figures' faces was told a story all its own. Painted John's face was slapped with shock and a smirk could be seen on Sherlock's lips as he stared at his experiment. The painting told the story of spending a normal day with the detectives.

"Where did you learn to paint like that?" Sherlock asked, pressing his face closer to the painting to get a closer look. He actually looked surprised by his flatmate's talents. John shrugged simply.

"My mother had me take art lessons with Harry so she wouldn't be alone in the class. I guess they paid off right?" Sherlock straightened back up and smirked at John slightly.

"Yes, but you seem to have forgotten some very important details to it. Such as the scratch left on Mrs. Hudson's table," Sherlock pointed out the spot with his finger and John raised a brow.

"You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock! I didn't see you paint my website instead of yours on the opened laptop sitting on that cluttered table," John pointed out.

"That is simply because my website is far more superior than your blog." Sherlock pointed out. John mumbled something grumpily about 244 types of tobacco ash and Sherlock muttered back a correction of the amount of ash. Honestly Lestrade wasn't even paying attention. He was staring at the two paintings giggling slightly. This caught the two detectives' attentions right away and Lestrade waved a hand at the painting.

"It's cute how you two both are in each other's paintings," Lestrade stated.

"We are not-"

"I know! I know! That's not what I was saying!" Lestrade yelped, holding up his hand in defense before the two detectives could finish their sentence. John and Sherlock un-tensed slightly and glared at Lestrade.

"So…who won?" John questioned.

"Me obviously, John," Sherlock reasoned before Lestrade could get in a word, spinning a brush between his fingers.

"No, mine-"

"THIEF!" A cry sounded from behind the closed doors of the room painting exhibit. Everyone froze as a man in a mask came rampaging through the doorway without a second thought with a bag stuffed with priceless art over his shoulder. He halted to a stop when he spotted the detectives and spun on his heels, heading towards the emergency doors. The three swore under their breath. Being famous was not helping them with cases at all. People knew exactly who they were. The thief was almost to the exit, but Sherlock and John were way ahead of him. In a blink of an eye they grabbed their paintings and tossed them like frisbees. The paintings twirled towards the thief at high speed. Sherlock's painting smacked him behind the knees, forcing him to the floor while John's clipped him in the head. The thief fell forward, knocked out by the strange attack. Lestrade quickly slapped on some hand cuffs and stared at the two painting's laying on the floor completely undamaged by their flight. Sherlock and John joined him, forcing their way past the cameras that were forced into their faces.

"Just the two of us against the rest of the world," Sherlock mumbled to John as they finally pulled away from the crowd.

"You've got that right," John muttered, kneeling down to steel the bag of art back from the unconscious thief. The crowd behind them muttered loudly, snapping photos of the three standing over the thief. "We still have no idea who won yet, though," he added.

"I think you both win this round," Lestrade sputtered, flabbergasted that paintings had just caught a thief. There seriously should be no surprise when it comes to working with the best detectives in the world. John and Sherlock both met each other's gaze.

"Truce?" John asked, holding out a hand. Sherlock took it adding proudly,

"Until the next time."

* * *

**HIYA GUYS! Did you all watch the BBC Drama Trailer today?! It was so awesome and I had to somehow put Sherlock's quote from the trailer into the fic. I couldn't resist. Let's see if you guys can find it in here. I swear I hit replay on that video over a billion times. I must also point out: Mary and Sherlock were on a motorcycle! What?! This is definitely going to be the best season yet! GAAAHHH! I'm so excited! **

**Anywho…back to the story. Thank you **_**Misty Jewel**_** for the idea. I'm working on the others. I hope you and everyone else enjoyed this one and John and Sherlock's paintings. Coming Soon: Chapter 15- **_**Put Back the Ice Box, Sherlock.**_


	15. Put Back the Ice Box, Sherlock

_Chapter 15_

_Put Back the Ice Box, Sherlock_

Why the heat wave decided to hit London the one time the air conditioning broke the three will never know, but they all knew one thing. They were not leaving the flat for anything until the heat went down and of course that idea didn't sit well with a certain consulting detective.

Sherlock sat in his chair, fiddling with an ice box. John and Lestrade were sitting on the couch with a few ice bags pressed to their faces and dressed in shorts and super thin T-shirts. They were watching Sherlock carefully as Sherlock hooked wires to the box sitting in front of him and John was starting to look irritated.

"Sherlock, for the billionth time! Put back the ice box!" John shouted. Watching Sherlock put all his sweat and blood into whatever the hell he was up to was driving him crazy and making him feel even hotter than he already did. Sherlock swiped a hand across his face, whipping away the drenched curls on his face and sent a flash of puppy eyes at his flat mate.

"But, John, when I finish this experiment we will be cooler and be able to go to the triple murder crime scene!" Sherlock announced, fingers tapping against the box lightly. John got up from his chair, kicking the ice box behind him so Sherlock wasn't messing with it while he was speaking.

"There is no way we are looking at bodies of all things in this heat Sherlock. Today is a stay at home day," John informed him, arms crossed. Sherlock got up from his chair, towering over John as he glared down at his friend with those sharp blue eyes. John waited for Sherlock to argue, but he simply smirked silently to himself and walked into the bathroom. John watched him go, eyes narrowed.

"Well, that was easy," Lestrade sighed, tossing his melted ice back into the ice box that had skidded towards him when John kicked it. Hopefully Mrs. Hudson got back soon with the new air conditioner. He didn't really want to resort into sticking his head into the fridge with severed body parts just too keep cool. Of course he could always clean it out, but god forbid he messes with the great detective's experiments!

Lestrade let out a tired sigh and let his eyes fall back to John, who was still staring at the bathroom door with slit eyes. Lestrade shook his head. He worried too much. Maybe Sherlock just didn't want to argue. It's too hot for all that effort of course. John usually wins these kinds of fights anyway.

"He's up to something," John whispered silently and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake, just sit, John! What is he going to do in this weather – SPFT…UHG!" Lestrade cried as a ark of water splattered into his face at high speed. John ducked in time before he could get wet and dived behind his chair. Lestrade tripped to the floor, looking up at the bathroom door with stinging vision from the water. Sherlock stood in the doorway smirking devilishly with a water gun. Lestrade's eyes widened and he made to say something, but John grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him out of the way as Sherlock tried to splatter him with a water gun once again. "Where the hell did he get that?!" Lestrade barked, whipping the water out of his eyes as the hid. John glanced over the arm of the chair, watching out for the detective's next attack.

"Apparently it was for one of his first cases, but I just think it's some silly keepsake from when he was a kid. Don't ask why," John hummed, ducking as Sherlock blasted water over the chair and knocked the skull to the floor. Lestrade frowned at the skull as it lay by his feet, practically smiling.

"We have to get that gun away from him," Lestrade whispered. John nodded looking around them for something that could serve as some sort of distraction. When his eyes followed Lestrade's eyes to the skull they lit up and his fingers snatched it up. Before Lestrade even had the chance to ask what John was up to the blogger had chucked the skull right into Sherlock's chest, sending the surprised detective to the floor and dropping the gun. Lestrade shot up from where he was sitting and grabbed the gun before Sherlock had a chance to come out of his daze and shot. Sherlock sputtered and gagged as Lestrade let the ice cold water fly at him, drenching his curls and the white shirt he had been wearing. He tried to squirm away, but John came up behind him, locking his arms around Sherlock's body and holding him still as Lestrade continued to completely drench the consulting detective. Sherlock struggled under John's hold only wiggling himself free when he was already so drenched his shirt was practically clear, his curls were hanging in his face, and his clothes stuck tight to his body. Sherlock pushed away from John and grabbed the ice box before flying into the kitchen. John and Lestrade followed right behind only to find Sherlock standing with the ice box in his hands filled to the top with water.

"Sherlock! Put back the ice box, Sherlock! Don't you dare!" John cried. Sherlock simply started approaching them and Lestrade tried shooting at Sherlock, but the detective his behind the box. They screamed, running into the kitchen, but Sherlock was fast. He flung the box at them, letting the water completely soak them and the rest of the flat. Lestrade and John fell to their backs, laughing hysterically and Sherlock stole back his gun pointing it at the two prisoners.

"Cool enough yet?"

* * *

**Sorry it is so short and that it took so long. Real life is starting to affect me. With school started, my driver's test tomorrow, clubs, and other stories I've just run out of time. Don't worry though. I'll figure something out. **

**Anywho…hope you all enjoyed it! Chapter 16: _The Boating Calamity_ will be next. See ya all next time!**


	16. The Boating Calamity

_Chapter 16_

_The Boating Calamity_

John and Lestrade chased after Sherlock as they ran down the side of the deck. Bloody bastard was trying to get himself killed or even worse….rise his already too high fever. The last thing anyone wanted was a feverish Sherlock Holmes. Still, that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that they were alone on a boat with a murdering maniac in the middle of a storm. Confused? Let's start at the beginning shall we?

* * *

_Earlier_

* * *

"Oh God, somebody get me off this thing!" Lestrade moaned, holding his head over the side of the boat railing. His stomach was empty of everything he had devoured since they got stuck on the boat. Stupid bloody Holmes! This was his fault! He had been the one to chaise a homicidal maniac onto the chincy ship and of course Lestrade had to be the one who had to chaise after him. Oh…and John of course. Sadly, it appears that at that time the ropes holding the boat in place decided to snap and well…here they are now! Heaving their guts out over the railing into the salty waters with no captain and no idea what so ever how to pilot the damn thing. We can't forget the crazy killer hiding aboard either. Nope, today was just going peachy.

"I hope you're happy, Sherlock," John moaned, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before sliding to the deck. Coughing could be heard a ways away, but Lestrade couldn't hear what Sherlock was muttering about. He could only hear the crashing waves and his stomach gurgling in protest of the constant rocking. Ugh…would this ever end?! He let his eyes flicker out into see. The waves were crashing together roughly and dark clouds were starting to billow up around the small boat. This was not a good sight. There was no way in hell this little dingy could survive a huge storm like this.

"Where did the Murderer go?" Sherlock rasped as he slowly made his way over to both Lestrade and John. His face was paler than normal and his cheeks were turning pink. Lestrade simply brushed it off. He was more concerned of what Sherlock was asking.

"We don't know! How could you have lost him!" Sherlock shrugged, flinching slightly from Lestrade's loud tone and holding his head with a hand.

"I…" Sherlock swallowed, hand falling down to his stomach. "Felt ill."

"Join the club," Lestrade muttered, waiting for John to take the lead in this argument, but the doctor was no longer near Lestrade. He was now at Sherlock's side with a hand pressed to Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock stumbled slightly in surprise at the added wait, but John had a vice hold grip on his flat mate. "What?" Lestrade questioned ad John swore silently. John lowered his hand from Sherlock's forehead and used it to push the detective into a sitting position on the deck of the ship.

"Fever," John answered, worry evident in his voice. Everything instantly flipped. Lestrade shot up hands in his hair.

"NOW?! He had to get a fever now?! As if things weren't bad enough, but now he's at risk of going into 'crazed detective mode'?!" Sherlock sent him a glare, opening his mouth as if to retort back, but he shut it instantly when his face suddenly turned a shade of unfriendly green. John shoved his friend's head over the railing, keeping his hands securely on Sherlock's shoulder to keep him from going over the edge.

"This isn't good," John muttered, rubbing small circles in the consulting detectives back.

"Correct, Doctor Watson." Everybody, spun around at the cold voice that penetrated their conversation. Standing on the railing behind them stood the very man they had been trapped with on this godforsaken boat.

"_You…_," Sherlock hissed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The cruel man in front of them smirked slightly.

"I am the one that got away," he teased, before taking off down the rail. Sherlock burst after him, pushing past John and Lestrade's arms as they tried to hold him back.

* * *

_Now_

* * *

"Sherlock!" John shouted, spotting the murderer holding Sherlock up against the railing. "God, can't he stay away from edges?" he sputtered. They watched as the murder took a swing, but Sherlock caught it, flipping the man over his shoulder and down hard into the panels bellow his feet. Sherlock stumbled slightly on his feet, bracing himself against the railing as he collected himself. The murderer was out cold. John sighed, rubbing a hand against his face with relief until he hear Lestrade shout out. His eyes flew up to Sherlock who was now swaying even more than before. John broke into a run, eyes widening as a wave splashed over the side and swallowed the detective up into its deadly grip.

"NO! John, don't!" But it was too late. John had already jumped over the edge and disappeared into the huge waves. Panic flooded Lestrade's chest. His hand fumbled for the life ring and he let his eyes scan the black waters. Nothing. There was no sign of his friends anywhere. "Come one…come on…" he mumbled to himself, chewing nervously at his lip.

"Lestrade!" a choked voice called from bellow. Lestrade looked down to see John holding onto a stray rope connected to the boat with an unconscious Sherlock in his arms. With ought a second of hesitation he tossed the ring down to John and yanked on the rope until both of his friends were in a sopping heap on the deck. He rushed to their side, shedding his coat. John was bent over Sherlock, tapping at the man's cheek in attempt to revive him. Sherlock let out a choking sound, flying up into John's arms and John held him still as he hacked up several gallons of water. "You and falling off of things is starting to get annoying," John grumbled. A giggle left Sherlock's lips and the detective stared up at his two flatmates, feverish red coloring his cheeks.

"JAWN, let's go sw'ming again! Dat was soooooo fuuuuun." John and Lestrade both shared a look.

"Let's hope the radio on this hunk of junk works or we're stuck with Mr. Crazy detective." John glanced down at the giggling detective. It was going to be a long wait for rescue.

* * *

**Yes! New chapter is finally up! YAY! I almost wasn't going to post it because this week for me is Homecoming Week for my school, but I got it! WHOOP! Boy the real world had been crazy. I've got some good news. I got my driver's license now and also my braces (which for me his strangely a good thing). Also…I was wondering if any of you would be interested in me writing for BBC Merlin? I've been wanting to try out some other fandoms lately and Merlin was the next on my list. I've got a couple chapters written up for it, but I wanted to hear what you all have to say. **

**Anywho…thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope I surprised you, **_**Misty**_**. Next chapter is: Milkstaches. ;)**


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